


By Time, By Tragedy, By Love, By War

by Al0homora



Category: Titanic (1997)
Genre: 1920s, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-01-05 00:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18354932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al0homora/pseuds/Al0homora
Summary: Ten years have passed, along with several jobs, a pregnancy, and the first Great War. Rose and Jack unknowingly find their way back to each other, but will everything turn out as they hope?





	1. Arrival

Chippewa Falls, WI - February 1922

Hat in hand and duffle bag by his side, Jack Dawson never thought he would see this town again, but here he was stepping off of the two o'clock train, back into the center of the town that had shaped his young life. Looking up the street, it hadn't changed much. There were more cars and less carriages now, and a clock tower had been added to the small town hall building in the center, but other than that much of the main street of Chippewa Falls Wisconsin was just as he had left it at fifteen years old. He wondered how many of the people were as he left them. He himself had certainly been altered: by time, by tragedy, by love, by war. He reckoned that even if the others hadn't moved from the town that they were probably much changed as well. Time had a way of doing that.

He had meant to come back earlier, truly. Only, two years had gone by while he had looked for his Rose and worked the odd job to keep food in his stomach, traveling from New York to Philadelphia to Santa Monica, and then the war had started. He still hadn't found her at that point, and had given up hope, deciding it would be better to enlist in the services early rather than wait around and get the worst of the assignments; not that it had mattered. He had taken two bullets to the leg anyway, and while he was still kicking, and still walking, he would never get around quite as quickly. He hadn't reached American soil again until late in 1919, and now that he was recovered enough to walk on his own and after spending over a year in Fabrizio's crowded Brooklyn flat with his friend's ever growing family, he still had the majority of his military stipend, and figured he had nothing to lose in returning, and maybe even still a house to gain. He was not longer quite up to sleeping out in the cold under bridges with the dull ache of shrapnel still in his leg, and he could no longer do such physical work to get from place to place. Plus he figures that it's been long enough now. It's 1922. He wants to see their graves… his parents; his sister. And even if the old house had been let to someone else now, he'd like to look at it again.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he begins the short trek through town towards where he remembers a small Inn. After a long train journey it would be best to get some rest and regain his bearings before checking on anyone he left behind. He doesn't notice as he's walking, the odd looks that he's getting on the way. He just nods them off. Surely, no one recognizes him after fifteen years. The odd glances must be about his limp or his military issue jacket, marking him as a vet. Finding the old Inn quickly enough, he enters the main parlor room, clearing his throat to get the attention of the young brunette woman sat reading behind the desk.

"Have you got any vacancies?" he asks when she finally looks up, surprised at his sudden appearance. He assumes that they do. It's not exactly a large town, or a big tourist destination, even if it is the only layover on the way to Eau Claire and Milwaukee.

"Oh, of course!" the girl exclaims. She's scrambling to bring forward a leather folio book that looks like a remnant of the late 1800's, while looking up at him, taking in his appearance.

He steps forward, conscious of his limp now that he's being watched, and tries to make walking appear effortless. He nods towards the book. "How - uh, how much is the stay per night?"

"A dollar per night," she says, not meeting his eye now. "Although if you've served in the war, I'm sure mother could cut you a discount. She's partial to army men."

Jack frowns, shaking his head. He doesn't want charity. "That's quite alright. If the rate is a dollar per night then that's what I'll pay. Mark me down for a week for now, and I'll let you know if I'll be staying any longer," he says, hoping that by then he'll have more of a plan together and more of an idea about the house, and he hands over seven dollar bills. The house had been left to him in his father's will, but he's not sure if it'll still be honored this far down the road, or if the house is even standing. He may be looking for a room in a boarding house between here and Eau Claire, permitting he found a job.

The girl nods, blushing a bit, and Jack hopes he hasn't insulted her by rejecting her kindness. When she asks for his name he gives it, not catching her sudden glance back up. The moment passes, and he's handed a key.

The room itself is a small one, but it has its own bathroom, and a double bed, something he doesn't think he's ever had to himself, having gone from his small childhood bedroom, to trains, to tenements, to camping out on park benches and in shared quarters and garrets, to military bunks, and honestly after twenty-seven hours on a moving train he cannot think of anything better than a hot bath and a long lie in.

— — — —

Rose is exhausted, and her head is aching just as much as her feet. Its not long past two in the afternoon on a Friday, but the lunch crowd has died early, and thankfully she is able to slip outside for a cigarette before returning to clean her tables. She is thankful that the manager of this diner is so patient with her, even counting her as a friend. When she showed up here she was five months pregnant, and hadn't had a day's experience, unless you count New York, and that had been a near disaster to say the least. She counted herself lucky to be allowed this job, or she didn't know what she would do when it came to raising Josephine. Sure there had been the money in the coat, but she had only ever touched that in emergencies and had been careful to replace what she used from the pile. Using any of that money felt like taking a bribe or charity from Cal, not to mention a disservice to the promise she had made to Jack. In fact, she felt that she had Jack to thank for this job. It was only after she mentioned his name that the late Mr. Richardson had agreed to take her on.

Still, there were times when her feet were so swollen in her shoes and she was so tired that she couldn't see straight when she wondered how bad it would be to use some of that money for real and take a break. Now was one of those times. As she leaned against the outside of the building and took a deep drag form her cigarette, she could have sworn that she had seen Jack pass by on the other side of the street. She blinks, looking again. There's a man across the way in a green military jacket and black combat boots who has the blonde hair to match Jack's, and a similar height, but as she watches him she realize that this man walks with a limp. Plus, she reminds herself for the millionth time, Jack is dead. She had seen him go under the water. Reluctantly, she stubs out her cigarette with the heel of her shoe and goes back inside. The sooner she gets her section cleaned the sooner she can make her way to the school house to collect Josephine, and return home for some dinner and some aspirin for her aching head.

Home, as it turns out, is what had once been the Dawson household. She supposes that it still is, in a way. After all, she has taken his name, even if it had never been official, and most of the people in the town had never asked her if it was. They had just assumed, when she turned up asking about Jack Dawson's past and family and if there was anything left now, that she must have been his wife. She had been with child, and especially after Josephine had been born, everyone had seen the resemblance. they commented all the time about how much her child looked like Jack, especially now that she was nearing ten years old. It had always been a great comfort for Rose; a part of him was still with her - her little blessing.

Her little blessing, however, is currently scowling into her soup and playing with her spoon while her strawberry blonde hair is coming undone from her little bun. Rose for a moment is tempted to correct the girl's manners, and wonders what her mother would think if she could see her grand daughter right now. Instead, she reaches forward to tuck some of the stray hair behind her daughter's ear, and asks what has her so down.

"Beatrice called me it again," Josephine answers, setting her spoon down angrily.

"What did she call you, my dear?" Rose asks, concerned. Josephine had been dealing with bullies at school more and more often as of late.

"I can't say the word, mama. It's a bad word."

Rose frowns. "Well, do you know what the word means? Can you tell me that?"

The little girl nods, and tears begin to form in her blue eyes, making Rose's frown deepen as she scoots closer. "It- it means I don't have a father. It means you had me with out being married, and I don't have a father, and she's right!"

She's fully crying now, and Rose is out of her own seat, pulling her daughter to her chest. "Oh my dear. It's just a word. Words can't hurt you. Sticks and stones, remember?" She strokes Josephine's hair waiting for her to calm down, before pulling her chin up to meet her eye. "My darling, you know the story of your father. You know how much I loved him, and I have no doubt he loved me and he would love you too. He would adore you. If he were here we would all be a family, and so there is no need to worry about that silly word, or anything that this Beatrice has to say. I am sure that wherever your father is now, he loves you very much, and if you ever want to see him you can just look at all of the pictures on these walls."

Once her daughter is calmed down, and has had her dinner and bath, and is all tucked in for the night, Rose finds herself once again looking at the pictures herself. When she had accepted the offer from Mr. Murphy, who manages the town's affairs, and had agreed to move into Jack's old family home she hadn't expected to find it as it had been left nearly six years before. Most of all she hadn't expected the photographs, and she had been moved to tears to discover the drawings, carefully framed and hung from the walls. Jack's family had definitely encouraged his talent from a young age. What she loved best however was a large drawing of his whole family including himself which hung above the mantelpiece. His mother had been beautiful, and his father very handsome. She could see where he had gotten his looks. And she had been very surprised to find out that he had a sister; by the looks of it, a twin. Looking at at the image of Jack, the drawing must have been made shortly before his family perished and he left home. He was a teenager in the image, younger looking than she remembered, and more gangly and awkward, but his eyes were the same, as was his smile, and both were a comfort to gaze upon. She had no idea that soon she would be gazing upon the real thing for the first time in ten long years.


	2. Alive

Motherhood, for Rose was a blessing and a curse. She would never give her daughter up for a thing in the world. Her daughter was her life, and she truly enjoyed watching her grow into the lovely young woman she was becoming, but having her daughter had been extremely hard on her body, with a complicated pregnancy at the end, and something that had been so very hard to come to terms with; that from one night with Jack she was given this human life to care for that was separate from her own, when she barely knew how to take care of herself without maids and money.

Ten years later, however, she was extremely proud of the life she had made for herself and her daughter, and was glad that some of the more trying moments nowadays were merely attempting to her stubborn child out of bed, and dressed, and fed before she would be late for school again. Rose felt as if she herself were on thin ice with the schoolmaster over the number of times her child had been late, and this so happens to be one of those mornings where Josephine, or Jo as she liked to be called, is being extremely difficult to rouse.

She knocks on the door to the girl's room again before peeking in to find her daughter with her covers still pulled up over her head with only some red-blonde curls peeking out, completely ignoring that this is the third time her mother has called her down for breakfast.

"Josephine Cora Dawson!" Rose comes fully into the room this time and pulls the patchy blue quilt away from her daughter's face. "I have called you three times already this morning. You get dressed and come down for breakfast this instant! If you're late to your lessons again I won't be making excuses for you this time."

The girl squints her eyes closed tighter, but sits up this time, now that the warmth of her covers is gone.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming!" She grumbles it loudly, clearly wanting to be obstinate. Rose wonders if Jack had been like this as a child, or if her daughter got her stubborn streak purely from Rose herself.

"Good," Rose replies, laying out a pretty green dress for her daughter along with a sweater and some shoes and socks, before exiting the room again. When Josephine finally appears in the kitchen and slumps into her spot at the table, Rose is happy to see that her daughter has actually put her hair up with a ribbon. Normally it would be flopping into her eyes and into her food as well.

Josephine picks up a spoonful of oatmeal, letting it drop back into the bowl with an unattractive noise. "It's cold," she says, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Well, maybe if someone had gotten up the first time she was called, then it wouldn't be. Eat up. Its all we've got until lunch time," Rose replies, placing a packed lunch of a sandwich and an apple in front of her. Josephine grumbles some more but does as she's told. After years of rationing food during the war, she had learned not to question what she's given.

The walk to Josephine's school is uneventful, and the young girl has been yawning the whole way.

"I know I sent you to bed at a decent hour last night," Rose comments. "What were you doing in your room so late that has you fighting life this morning?" She smooths the hair from her daughter's face again, genuinely concerned and curious.

"Nothing, Mama. I was just drawing. I know I should have slept but I wasn't tired then, and I just want to be as good an artist as Papa was."

Rose frowns slightly, her heart pulling at the mention of Jack; at how her daughter refers to him as Papa even though they never met. She kneels down in front of the young girl, fixing her coat and taking in her innocent face which reminds her so much of the young artist she once knew. "My darling, you will be if you keep practicing as much as you can. Your drawings are already beautiful. There's a right place and time for that practice though, and it is not in the middle of the night on a school night, and its also not during school." Rose had been notified by Jo's teacher that the young girl liked to doodle during her lessons. "Now, you be a good girl today, and try not to fall asleep in class and I will see you this afternoon."

As she kisses her goodbye and sends her on her way she can't help but wonder if she's doing alright at this whole parenting thing. It's a hard balance between being her daughter's friend, and her mother as she is desperate not to cause resentment between them as her own mother had. She hopes she's doing it right. As she makes her way across town, her mind wandering, she's thankful that today is a short shift at work. She's so tired herself that she knows she isn't up for a full day, and can think of nothing better than an afternoon nap.

— — — —

"Jack Dawson, as I live and breath! I thought you were dead!"

Jack is at the town hall, talking to Mr. Murphy, the lawyer and town magistrate who had been in charge of the papers for most of Chippewa Falls for as long as he could remember: marriage licenses, and wills, and that kind of thing. Neither he nor his parents had ever known the man terribly well, but he supposes that its something that he's remembered by someone. After all it is Mr. Murphy's business to know everyone around and all of their business.

"I'm afraid not," Jack gives a wry smile, "Not quite yet anyway."

"Oh my boy, don't get me wrong. I mean nothing by it, its just…"

"I know. I've been away for fifteen years. I'm not dumb, Mr. Murphy, I know that I've left it too long and that there's probably nothing left at this point, but I figured there would be no harm in finding out. Is the house still there? or has someone saved any of their things at least?" He doesn't have to say what house, or whose things. It goes without being said. The deaths of Irene and James Dawson and his sister Julia had been a tragedy that the whole town had felt.

"I'm sorry Jack… We were… we were all under the impression that you had passed on."

Jack nods, looking at his hands. "So its gone." He says it as if he's trying to reason it out in his own mind. "All their things. And the house?" he asks, looking up. Mr. Murphy still looks rather confused.

"Oh, the house is still there, as are their things, I assume, Jack. You get me wrong. You see, a young woman lives there now. A young woman with a child."

"They let the place out without cleaning it out first?" he asks, somewhat bewildered, and a little angry now. What about his father's tools, and his mother's trinkets, or his sister's poems and stories? Those were supposed to be his. It had said so in the Will, he was sure, not that he had stayed around for the funeral. He knew though, that everything including the house was to be passed to he and his sister when his parents passed, and since he was the only one left, that meant it all went to him. His father had told him that on a fishing trip once when he was nine. He knew that after this long it was a bit of a shot in the dark, but he had thought that at least something would be left over; something to have as a reminder of the family he once had, even if it was just some photographs and journals.

"It hasn't been let, Jack," Mr. Murphy says now, looking worried. "But perhaps its all a mistake. You see, about ten years ago a young woman showed up here, claiming to know you. She gave the last name Dawson and claimed to have been married to you and carrying your child."

"What?" Jack asks, wanting to tell this man that the story is horse shit, but he bites his tongue. "I never married." He had only ever truly been with and loved one woman in his whole life, but the town magistrate didn't need to know that, and he had certainly never married anybody.

"Oh it's true alright," Murphy says, looking more concerned now. "She came into town around 1913, her belly swollen and eyes full of sadness. Maybe we shouldn't have believed her but she did have your name, and knew that you lived here. she came telling us this story about how you died on a ship saving her life and she had nothing to remember you by. She said she wanted us all to know that you were gone, and that she wanted her kid to grow up where you did. Of course when we all saw the kid after the girl was born, we all thought there was no doubt… but you say you've never been married?"

A ship. That's all Jack could hear after Mr. Murphy had said those words. Here he was getting his hopes up again no matter how dangerous that habit was. But could it be? Could it actually be that all that time he spent looking for Rose that she had been here the whole time?

"Titanic…" Jack mumbles, and the older man is staring at him now, very confused. "Mr. Murphy, please," he asks, now feeling frantic. "Her name.

what is her name?" He knows he must look like a crazy person right now. His eyes are so wide, and he's on the edge of his seat, practically grasping for the older man.

"Well, Dawson, Jack." Says the lawyer with a shrug. "A uh, Rose Dawson, I believe. Lovely girl. Hard working, and quite pretty… but you say she's not your wife after all?"

Jack is out of his seat before the man is finished with his sentence, startling him.

"Do you know where I can find her?" he asks, heading toward the door. "Where she might be?

Confused at their meeting being abruptly cut short, and wondering if he had made a mistake in allowing Rose to reside in the Dawson home, Murphy stands as well. "She does work at the diner in the mornings; the one on the corner of Princess St. ; Richardsons'."

That's all Jack has to hear. He's off as quickly as his injured leg will allow, ignoring the throbbing pain as he puts pressure on the wrong places. Heading towards the diner that's in the opposite direction as he had walked the day before. He only has to go about half a block before he's there, standing in front of painted windows reading Richardson Diner. He used to come here as a kid with is father after the weekend markets where he had sold his furniture. His dad would let him have some of his beer if he kept it a secret from his mother and sister. Looking at the sign, and knowing that Rose could be just a few feet away, he realizes that he could really use a beer right now, prohibition be damned.

Peering through the window to the inside he can see that she's not there, unless she's in the back. There is only Mrs. Richardson, much older now than he remembered her being, and a cook, counting money at the counter. Still though, he enters. Maybe Rose is in the back or would be returning. It wouldn't hurt to ask. He's so close to seeing her again that he can feel it.


	3. The Shock of It All

Rose sets a ticking kitchen timer for forty minutes and then lays down on the couch, exhausted. Since seeing that man on the street the day before, memories of Jack and Titanic had been brought to the surface, and she hadn't gotten much sleep. Luckily she had only worked the early lunch shift this morning and had some time to catch a nap before leaving to pick Josephine up from school. It was the end of the week, and she usually took Josephine to the diner as a treat for dinner with Mrs. Richardson, and her son Will, who was only a few years older than Jo.

She had barely dozed off when she hears a knocking at the front door, which is very odd. The house wasn't exactly close to town, and they never got unplanned visitors. Rushing upright, Rose tries her best to smooth out the skirts of her dress, knowing that her hair, still mostly up in its top knot is a lost cause. Upon opening the door she is surprised to see her boss and friend whom she had just left half an hour before.

"Miranda." She says, her confusion apparent. "Did I leave something behind?"

The older woman, probably in her fifties, gives her a look that Rose can only describe as sympathetic. "No, my dear. I've just come to let you know that I'll be collecting Josephine from school this afternoon, and she'll be spending the night. I'm afraid something has come up that will require your attention for the rest of the evening."

"Miranda, what.." She's silenced by a hand on her shoulder.

"Trust me, Rose, you'll thank me later. Come, collect a change of clothes and some night things for Josephine, and and then all your questions will answer themselves," her friend tells her, stepping inside the small farm house, and watching as a confused Rose hurries up the stairs and emerges again with a ruck sack of her daughters things, handing it over.

"Now," says Mrs. Richardson, "I am going to leave, and someone is going to come around the corner, and I think you should be sitting down, dear. It may be quite a shock."

With that Mrs. Richardson is leaving again, with a rather smug smile on her face.

"What on earth?" Rose speaks to herself, still confused. Suddenly from around the corner comes the man that Rose had seen the day before, his head still down and hands in his coat pockets. He's not in a full uniform, but Rose is sure its the same man, and as he approaches the steps up onto her porch her breath stops in her throat, and she has to clutch at the doorway to stay upright. It's Jack. There's no doubt about it this time, and he looks just as surprised.

She's not sure what to say as she continues to cling to the doorframe, her knuckles turning white, and she's glad that he has now looked up, climbing the stairs before stopping in front of her.

"Rose." His eyes are full of wonder and sadness at the same time, and he has paused in his tracks as well, gripping the railing of the stairs.

She can't help the sob that escapes her lips unbidden. This wonderful man, whom she had believed to be truly gone and had mourned with everything in her was standing right there, just a few feet away, and it was like seeing a ghost, only she knew that her imagination couldn't picture him this vividly, nor make him grow up at all from the young man she had known, but here he was, still tall, still tan, still with the same soul searching eyes, but he was also different; older. His hair is slightly shorter and looking like it was growing back from a military cut, and was slicked back messily with a few strands falling out of place, and he had a beard now, or rather, a goatee, cut close around his chin with some stubble growing back on his cheeks and jaw. His shoulders and chest are broader and more muscled, and when he does take another step forward she notices that he does walk with a limp, as the man she had observed yesterday had.

"Rose," he says again, as if its the only word he knows. He's reaching for her now with one hand, and that breaks the spell. Within seconds her arms are around his neck as she clings to him on the porch, still sobbing hysterically.

"Jack! Jack you're alive! I thought I lost you forever— I thought…"

His arms wrap soundly around her waist, lifting her slightly off her feet as he hugs her back just as strongly, kissing the side of her head and breathing her in. "I'm here, Rose. I'm so sorry! I'm here now."

After a minute or two he loosens his grip, setting her down and pulling back to look at her. His hand finds its way to her face to wipe away her tears as they just keep coming, and she knows her face is probably turning red and swollen now.

She's aware that she looks different now, just as he does, and she's conscious of his eyes drinking her in. She has lost some weight around the middle from working more and eating less frequently, that she knows, but her figure has also filled out differently since having a child; her hips are wider, and her breasts a bit less perky. Her hair is still just as vibrant though, and her posture is still regal, even if she now clothed herself in simple work dresses, and she has a smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose from no longer hiding from the sun, that haven't faded even in the middle of winter.

Gazing at him some more she notices that while his features haven't changed much, he's starting to get laugh lines around his eyes and mouth the creases in his forehead and between his eyebrows have deepened.

There's also a scar on his left jawbone that hadn't been there before, and while he is by no means sad, there is a somber air to him now. He is still wearing a uniform jacket, so perhaps that thing they said about the war changing everybody was true. She knew that if she hadn't had Josephine to care for she would have signed up as a nurse herself.

— — — —

They probably would have continued to stand out in the cold staring at each other if it hadn't been for Rose's timer suddenly going off and breaking the spell.

"Just a minute!" she exclaims, darting inside and grabbing the thing off of the coffee table and turning it off as Jack watches from the doorway with a clear view into the sitting room.

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" he asks, now fully aware of how abruptly he had shown up unannounced. He could have at least sent a note ahead or something, but once he had found out she was alive and here, he hadn't wanted to waste another minute. He hadn't stopped to consider what she may be doing, or even whom she may be with. He seemed to have lucked out that she was indeed alone.

"Oh, no," she says, returning, with a bit of a blush on her cheeks. "Honestly, I had just laid down for a nap and the timer was to keep me from oversleeping.

Jack nods, hovering in the threshold, and noting that with the dark circles under her eyes she did indeed look pretty tired. He wants to step closer to her again, but doesn't want to overstep any boundaries they may have after ten lost years, and while this had once been his house and home, now it belonged to her.

She arches an eyebrow, picking up on his hesitance, and just asks, "Are you going to come in?" as if its not really a question at all. That's all it takes for him to step fully inside, and she closes the door behind her as he looks around. Much of the main room looks just as he had left it at fifteen years old, and he's not sure if he should be glad about that, or a little sad. The walls are still a mix of exposed brick and light victorian brocade wallpaper that his mother had loved. The furniture was still the same, as was much of the art on the walls, a lot of it his own. Rose had added some art, though, as well as some greenery, and there were now electric lights instead of oil lamps. Being back in this space doesn't quite feel real to Jack, especially when his gaze lands back onto Rose who is watching him look around. Suddenly he himself is feeling a little overwhelmed.

"Can I get you something, Jack?" She asks from her place by the door. She's full of nervous energy. "Coffee, or tea?"

"Coffee would be good," he says, noticing how dry his throat has gotten with all of his nerves. He follows her into the kitchen and watches as she expertly prepares a percolator with coffee grounds on a stove that is not completely up to date, but newer than the one his family had owned. Looking around, he notices a newer electric icebox, or refrigerator as they were now called, as well, but everything else looks much the same. As he watches Rose at the stovetop he wonders how hard it had been for her to adjust to this life; not only to the new environment, and the people she was around now, but to having to cook and clean and do everything herself. He had never doubted her abilities, but still, he was aware that a lot of these tasks must have been first times for her, and she really looks as if she's done well for herself.

She spies him watching her again, and he doesn't even have to say what he's thinking. "It's easier than I thought; cooking. Of course, I'm still no fine chef, and working in a diner gave me a real leg up." She hands him a mug of coffee and pours one for herself, and they both sit at the small round kitchen table. "Of course, I didn't have much of a choice. It was either learn, or starve, and with Josephine on the way, that wasn't really an option."

Josephine. Murphy had mentioned a child, and so had Mrs. Richardson, but this was the first he was hearing a name, and Rose's choice left his breath caught in his throat. "J-Josephine?" he asks, setting down his mug, and Rose meets his eye with a serious expression.

"Did Mrs. Richardson not tell you?" She asks, and for a moment he sees fear cross her features.

"She, uh, she and Mr. Murphy both mentioned a child. They didn't tell me a name though." He wants to ask the question in the forefront of his mind but doesn't know how to phrase it right so as not to offend her, but he has to know. "Is she…"

"Yours?" Rose responds, her green blue eyes not leaving his. "Yes. She is every bit yours… ours. She's more like you every day, and she is what has kept me alive, Jack."

"So that one night…" Jack says, in awe. He had never thought after all this time that he would ever have a child, let alone already have one with the woman he had loved and thought he had lost forever.

Rose nods. "She just turned nine. She's a brilliant artist, Jack, just like you, with your eyes and height and desire for adventure." She stands to retrieve a small photo in a frame from a side table, and hands it to him.

The photo is black and white, so he can't tell hair color, but the child in the picture, maybe about seven years old, looks like the perfect mix of himself and Rose. She has his eyes and hair line, and her nose and smile, and he's glad to see that she looks like a very happy child. Suddenly he feels guilty for having a child he had never known of and of not being around for the birth, or there to watch her grow. He hates that he has missed so much of Rose's life, and now Josephine's, and he wants to know absolutely everything.

"When did you find out you were pregnant?" he asks, setting the photo down in front of himself, and taking a sip of his coffee, trying to appear calm despite the mass of emotions he's feeling inside. "I looked for you everywhere, Rose. You weren't on the list… how did you survive? How did you get here?" He had so many questions.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replies with a sigh, and he swallows again.

"I guess we have a lot to talk about."


	4. If Only I Knew

"There was a boat. A boat was coming back and I tried to wake you up but you wouldn't move." Rose's face grows pale as she revisits the memory, her eyes far away. "Your hands were so cold and stiff. I thought you were dead. I didn't want to let you go, but I knew that if I didn't get the boat's attention I would have frozen too, and I promised you to go on."

Jack nods, and reaches to grab Rose's hand across the table. "I'm glad you found a way out, Rose. For a long while I wasn't ever sure if you had. I looked on all the lists and there was no Rose Dewitt-Bukater. I saw the name Rose Dawson, but the name Dawson is so common, I couldn't be sure. It was enough for me to hope, though."

"I didn't want to be a Dewitt-Bukater anymore. I wanted to be free of that life. I wanted to honor that promise I made you, and make my own life. On the Carpathia I hid from Cal and my mother, and when I got off I gave the officers your name. I missed you so much, and I was so scared, but I knew if I went back to mother and Cal I would be trapped forever."

Jack nods. "I think it was the cold of being fully under the water after you let me go that shocked me awake," he says, thinking back to the experience. "When I broke the surface you were gone but I could see one boat rowing away and the flashlight of another approaching. I had hoped you were on the other one. I splashed and made as much noise as I could until the other boat saw me, and I passed out after being picked up. Molly Brown was in the boat that got me, though." He smiles a bit as Rose's eyes grow wide. "She had this big fur coat that she took off and put on me, and I think its part of what kept me alive. I don't remember much of being on the Carpathia. I was in a medical wing, and I was pretty delirious. If I had been able to look for you, let alone sit up or talk or do anything but shiver and fight my hypothermia I would have found you in a heartbeat. Molly had been told by your mother that you had not survived. I'm glad she had the sense not to tell them that I had. It wasn't until I was mostly recovered and in New York that I noticed a Rose Dawson on the list."

Rose frowns, looking down at the table. "I should have thought to check the infirmary! I had seen you go under though, so I thought there was no chance you could have survived. I saw Molly on deck once, but was afraid to speak to her in case she talked to my mother or Cal. I knew Cal was looking for me, and he was furious. Of course it wasn't until after the boat docked that I realized why. I was still wearing Cal's coat, and he had put the diamond, and $10,000 in cash in the pockets. I figure at that point he no longer wanted me, he just wanted the money. I never did find out what happened to Mother."

Jack's eyebrows rise. "Rose, that's enough money to live on for about twenty years!"

"I know," she says, still looking down. "I never really let myself use it though. I didn't want to feel like I was living off of Cal's charity. I wanted to make my own life. I did use it a few times in emergencies," she admits, " I used it to find a place to sleep and buy some food those first few weeks, and then to get a train ticket out here, and to pay a doctor when I found out I was pregnant, but I always put back what I did use. It's been so long now though, that I feel like its more insurance than anything else. I won't touch it to buy just anything, but its there in case of emergency, and I will use some of it to send Josephine to University when the time comes, if that's what she wants to do. And the diamond, I knew I couldn't sell. It would be too traceable. It was also all I had left of you; the memory attached to it anyway, until I found out I had Josephine. I spent a lot of time those first few months looking at it and thinking of you."

"I guess with the way things played out its not a surprise we didn't find one another," he says, squeezing her fingers. "I spent two years looking, after I saw that name. I checked anywhere I could think of that you may have gone; a lot of hotels and inns in New York; boarding houses, and shops and theaters and libraries and bookshops. Fabrizio, the lucky devil, survived by bribing passengers in a lifeboat to let him on board in exchange for the bottle of whiskey in his pocket, so we shared an apartment in Brooklyn for a bit until he met a girl and got married, and then I went down to Philadelphia. I knew you weren't with Cal or your mother from what Molly had told me, but I thought maybe you would have wanted to be in a familiar city. I did see your mother once, leaving a restaurant. I don't think she saw me. I read in the paper the year of the sinking that Nathan Hockley had paid off the Dewitt-Bukater debts and given your mother a yearly stipend out of respect for the memory his son's deceased fiancé or some shit like that, so I don't think you need to worry about Ruth Dewitt-Bukater. She seemed to be doing just fine, although I'm sure Cal wasn't too happy about any of it. It was probably all a publicity stunt to earn back their good name after losing so much money on the ship."

"I'm sure he wasn't happy," Rose gives a dry laugh. "He knew that the whole marriage was to save my family's reputation. He loved that. Its what gave him so much power over me, and neither one of them would ever let me forget it."

"I kind of wish I had run into the bastard," muses Jack, "If only to see the look on his face when he realized he didn't win after all." He takes a sip of his coffee, and rakes both hands through his hair, sitting back in his chair now, watching Rose.

"Anyway," he says, wanting to lighten the moment. "After I realized you weren't there, I worked up enough money and took off for California. That was in 1914. We had talked about Santa Monica, and the pier, so I thought maybe…" His eyes grow dark again. "But then the war started, and I knew if I wanted to have a chance it would be better to go in early, before the US even fully entered. It was five years wasted, but here I am, alive and mostly well."

"Your leg," Rose says, studying his face now. "I saw you yesterday in town. I didn't know it was you, really. You were across the street and up a ways, and I thought it was only someone who reminded me of you, but I saw that you were limping…"

Jack nods. "I was on the front lines in the German spring offensives in 1918. I almost made it out of there, but one of my buddies left the trench to check a fuse and took a bullet to the shoulder. I went out to pull him back in and that's when I got hit and the fuse went off all at once." Jack seems far away again as he talks, and Rose can tell that he's sparing her a lot of the story.

"I took one bullet to the shin and another in my thigh, and a lot of cuts and bruises from the bomb shell and the blast, but considering what happened to my buddy I was damn lucky. I was sent back to a base hospital in England after that, and spent a bit in a convalescence home in Surrey healing and working up to walking again before being sent to London for light duty, which mostly meant taking care of army correspondence in an office. They kept a lot of us around for the year after the war ended, and I finally got my discharge and passage home around Christmas this year."

He finishes the story with a very matter of fact tone, and Rose is looking at him as if she's expecting more, but he just shrugs. He doesn't want to give her the details, really. Its not as if he doesn't trust her, but he doesn't think it would help either of them right now to hear the hard bits, and he's not feeling particularly up to reliving the memories just yet. It has been over a year, and he had just recently begun to get over the regular nightmares. She seems to sense his hesitance though, and simply asks "What made you come back here?"

Jack heaves a deep sigh, and throws back the rest of the coffee in his mug before looking around the familiar kitchen. "As you probably found out when you came here, my parents left this place to me in their will. Well," he pauses, "Me and my sister, Julia. Only, Julia passed as well. I was fifteen when it happened. It was a fire in a barn that stood in the field out back," he nods his head in the direction of a window. "It was also my Pa's workshop. He was a carpenter, and made a lot of the furniture for this town, and Eau Claire. Its how we could afford this big house. Anyway, all three of them were in that barn, and I was out with some friends at the time. It was summer, so there was no school, and a bunch of us were out at the lake swimming and goofing off when an officer came to fetch me and tell me the news. They're not sure how the fire started. Their guess was a lamp got knocked over or something but the whole place was wood and straw so it went up quickly. I was told that my father and mother were both in there working when the blaze started and both got out, but then my sister went in to try and save some of the animals and got trapped by a fallen beam, and then my father ran in after her and my mother as well. It all happened so quickly because it as so hot and dry here already. After I was given the news, I couldn't handle being here alone. I was too young and it was all too much, so I just took off, and you know most of the rest."

"Oh, Jack. I'm so sorry." She had heard his abridged version of the story before, and she had found out more from the people around town, but hearing it in his words was difficult, especially when she took into account that he was speaking of the family that had inhabited this house that she had lived in now for nearly a decade. She felt an odd kind of kinship with the people who had lived here. The story of their lives that had been left behind had made her feel closer to Jack, even when she had believed him to be dead as well, and had given her a kind of heritage to pass on to her daughter.

Jack nods, and reaches for her hand again, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles as he speaks. "I got back to the states a little over a month ago, and a discharge stipend only goes so far. I can't move around as well as I used to be able to, so some kind of factory job or shipyard work was out of the question, and with more kids on the way Fabrizio's apartment was a little crowded, but I knew I had the house and whatever may be left in my parents accounts, or at least I hoped I did. It had been fifteen years, so for all anybody in Chippewa Falls knew I was long dead or never gonna return. I knew that the house had either been let or left to ruin, but I figured I had nothing else to lose in finding out. If anything I could find a job in in a school in Eau Claire or something if there was nothing here, but I wanted to see, and I wanted to come and visit my family's graves before I never got the chance. I just got into town yesterday, and I went to see Murphy about the will this morning. That's when I was led straight to you."


	5. Josephine

"This is all so much to process," Rose says. She's gripping Jack's hand back tightly, as if she lets go he could disappear again. After so many years spent dreaming of him, if it weren't for how real and warm he felt she would still believe this was one of those dreams.

"I know," he says, getting to his feet and coming around to her side of the table where she stands as well. "Its crazy."

"I mourned for you," she says, searching his eyes, "but I never felt as if you were fully gone, and now I know why."

Still holding onto her hand, Jack leads her out into the living room where they both take a more comfortable seat on the couch, facing each other. She watches Jack's expression sadden a bit as he looks around the room, his eyes landing on the portrait of his family that hangs above the fireplace: the very drawing that Rose had been studying the night before. His eyes then move to a different picture; there is a photograph of Josephine and Rose in a small frame on the mantle.

"Tell me about Josephine," he says quietly, and Rose is glad to see a small smile on his lips as he asks.

"Josephine," Rose says, gazing at the photograph, which had been taken recently over the holidays, " Josephine Cora Dawson, was born on January the twenty-ninth 1913 at 2:20 in the morning and has been the light of my life since the moment I saw her." She sees that Jack is truly smiling now, and her heart gives a tug. its still the same smile she had been dreaming of all these years, and the fact that hearing about his daughter had put it there was the best thing Rose could think of.

"She is smart, and kind, and adventurous and artistic, and all the things I wish I was, and even though we've haven't had much, she's never complained. She can be a bit stubborn at times, but I like to think that's all she inherited from me. She's so much like you, Jack."

"If she's smart and kind and adventurous and artistic, then she must be like you as well. You are all those things too. And you're strong. You're so strong, Rose. I can't imagine what it must have been like, going blindly into a new world, and then finding out you were pregnant. I wish I had been there with you. I should have been there with you."

His words bring tears to her eyes again, and she relishes in the feeling of his hand at her cheek, holding it there with her own. "I wish you had been. I'm not going to lie and say it was easy. It was terrifying, Jack. I will say though, that maybe all things considered, it was better that I hadn't known you were off at war. I would have gone mad with worry."

He nods, understanding that. So many of the men he had known in the war had women back home that they loved, and many of them had fallen, and he was glad that was something that Rose and his daughter hadn't had to experience.

"I found out I was pregnant in late June. I had such bad morning sickness and no idea what was wrong with me until I finally made up my mind to see a doctor. Finding out felt like both a blessing and a curse. I was so elated to know that I was carrying your child; that I would have a connection to you forever, but I had no idea what I was doing or where I was going. It was finding out that made me decide on Chippewa Falls. I wanted to find out more about you if I could, and see if you maybe had anyone left. I felt like the people here had a right to know you were gone, and I think I was also searching for some sort of comfort. I wanted to speak with somebody— anybody who had known you. I hadn't considered when I arrived that they would assume we were married, but in my, well, delicate condition, I didn't think I was in a good place to explain without getting some harsh judgement passed. The only person I've befriended enough to tell the whole truth to has been Mrs. Richardson. The rest of the town thinks I'm your widow. It seemed safer that way. I hope you can forgive me."

"Rose. There's nothing to forgive. I like to think that if things had been different we would have married. I would have asked you, anyway."

This brings a smile to her own face. She had thought the same thing. In her mind she would have been married to Jack before she had even found out she was pregnant, and they would have traveled and figured out everything together as a team. She had always had his voice in her head, encouraging her along the way, and here he was speaking truth to what had once been idle imaginings.

"I liked to believe that," she says, lowering his hand to her lap. "Miranda and told me about the will and how the house had been left to you, and had insisted that I move in, and Miranda offered me the job at the diner. She was very patient with me, as I obviously had no idea what I was doing. She also helped me with the pregnancy and then with taking care of Jo and working at the same time when Jo was little."

"Mrs. Richardson and Ma were good friends," says Jack. "She was the closest thing I had to an aunt when I was growing up. She was the same age as my mother."

Rose nods. "She told me a lot of stories about you. You were quite the troublemaker, I've heard."

Jack grins. "Ahh, I meant well though."

"I know. The whole town knows. People would offer me condolences and tell me stories. They really loved you here, Jack. A lot of people were sad to hear you were gone." She frowns.

"Well, then a lot of people will get a pleasant surprise to hear I'm back."

"So you plan on staying, then?"

"Of course!" He says, his eyebrows raising expressively. "You didn't think I'd finally find you and then just take off again did you? Never in a million years. That is, if you'd like me to stay…" he asks, suddenly feeling unsure.

"Well, it is me who is staying in your house without the proper right to it. I should be asking you if I can stay."

He shakes his head. "Rose, you've been in this house for ten years. Thats nearly as long as I ever was; You've got just as much right to the place as I have, whether it says so on a piece of paper or not. No matter what happens, this is your home. You don't have to ask me for permission to stay."

"Well, do you plan to stay here?" She asks, almost nervous to hear his answer. "Do you want to stay here?"

"In Chippewa falls, yes, I plan to stay here," he says, leaning forward towards her as he places a cool hand under her chin. "In this house… that is entirely up to you." His eyes are serious, yet warm, drawing her in. "I know you have more than just yourself to think of, so don't feel as if you need to answer just yet. If you want me here, I'll be here, whenever you want. Whenever you're ready."

She had no idea, until the option was there, how much she appreciated the open offer. He was right, she had more than just herself to think of now. She had Josephine, and she had no idea how the reappearance of her father would affect the young girl, as she was still trying to figure out what her own reaction was.

"Thank you, Jack. I—" She wants to say more, but stops herself. Maybe, for right now, after such a shock and change of circumstances, it was better if they took things slow and really took the time to figure out where they stood. It would be the more responsible thing for them to do, in any case. "Thank you."

He smiles, seeming to intuitively understand that the discussion was ended for now. "You really are a sight for sore eyes," he says, letting go of her chin and settling back against the arm of the sofa. "I never thought I'd see you again."

"Me either," She replies, never wanting to look away from him.

"You're still just as beautiful as the first time I saw you," he says, tucking a flyaway lock of hair behind her ear. She takes a breath to protest, but changes her mind, knowing that he wouldn't back down from his claim so there was no point.

They lapse into silence again for a while, and both notice that the room is growing darker as the day comes to an end. At some point Jack gets up to stoke the fire and add some wood before returning to the sofa where Rose's head finds his shoulder. When she falls asleep, right there where she had intended to nap hours earlier, but now safe in Jack's arms as she had longed to be for so long, its one of the most peaceful nights she has had in her whole life. There would be so much to worry about the next day, and every day after that, but for right now, she was content to just have Jack, alive and close.


	6. A Family

It's before dawn when Rose wakes up. She's momentarily disoriented as she realizes she is on the lounge sofa, and she recalls the afternoon before as she looks back at Jack whom is snoring lightly in her ear. She couldn't even recall falling asleep because she had been so tired and overwhelmed, but at some point in the night they had and must have drifted into laying down fully, as now she had her back pressed into Jack's chest with her head pillowed on one of his arms as his other draped loosely around her waist. This was something she had imagined and dreamed of many times over the years when she felt in need of comfort, and now that it was real it didn't feel it. She hadn't been this close to a sleeping man, ever. If it weren't for the warmth and solidity of him right next to her, she would have assumed the whole reunion had been a dream. Now, with light beginning to dawn outside, and the fire down to embers she has to choose between leaning closer into Jack to fight the cold and spend her time thinking of all that his reappearance could mean for her and her daughter, or getting up to stoke the fire and find a sweater and some food. At the thought of food, she realizes that she hasn't eaten anything since breakfast the previous morning, and wonders when Jack's last meal was, and that makes up her mind toward taking care of the practical things first. She just doesn't know how she's going to escape her current position without waking him.

With some careful maneuvering, she is able to lift his arm from her waist and sit up, replacing the empty space with a cushion, and as she stands she takes an old quilt from atop a nearby chair and drapes it over him before moving to bring the fire back up.

Some time must have passed, and she's still standing a few feet away, arms wrapped around herself, looking into the now roaring flames when his voice startles her from her thoughts.

"You cold?" he asks. He's sitting up now, with the quilt in his lap, hair mussed from sleep and his expression unreadable. She realizes now that he never even removed his coat or shoes the evening before. They had both been so caught up in trying to understand how the other was alive and in the same space and all that had happened since they were separated. They had yet to begin to figure out what this meant and how to move forward, and they had both ignored basic needs already.

Remembering that he has asked a question that needs an answer she shakes her head, and then shrugs, before nodding, and his lip quirks up in a bit of a smile. She had been about to do what she usually did when anyone asked about how she was, and say that she was fine when she's not, and always put others first, before realizing that its Jack, and she doesn't have to do that. She doesn't want to do that with him, and he had already caught on. He's standing before she can protest and has draped the quilt over her shoulders, letting his hands linger for just a moment before moving a respectable distance away and looking at her. The glow from the hearth is setting her hair aflame, and yet she still appears so vulnerable.

"It's been so long," he says, repeating sentiments from the night before, "and yet I've thought about you every day, and just the thought of you— my memories of you have gotten me through all of the days where I didn't want to continue. I've wanted nothing more than to find you, even if at times I thought it was impossible, or believed that you were dead, and here you are. And I am so, so happy, Rose, that you're alright, and this might be totally out of left field and completely inappropriate, but I don't care about that anymore. I never got the chance to tell you back then so I want you to know now; I love you. I loved you from that first day we talked on deck, and at the time I didn't want to tell you and risk losing you or scaring you away, but I've already lost you once, and I have nothing left to lose now, and everything to gain."

"Jack, I.." Her eyes are wide, and her hand comes to cover her mouth a bit as his eyes bore into hers. He feels the need to step closer, and does so, placing his hands gently on her shoulders again.

"Please, let me get this out, Rose. I— I know that its been ten years. I know that's a long time. A lot of time has passed, and because of that we are entirely different people with new sets of experiences, and we never had the time to fully get to know each other, and truly, I am not trying to be presumptuous here. I know though that throughout all that time my feelings for you haven't changed. I realize that the circumstances are different now. You may not have a high class life holding you back anymore, but now you have more than just yourself to worry about in all of the decisions you make, and I respect that. I'm not asking for anything, except that you think about us, and whether we can give 'us' a real chance. If you decide that you don't want to or you're not ready, that's completely fine, and the same goes for Josephine."

He swallows heavily, trying not to get choked up with emotion as he gazes into Rose's eyes and sees the same fear he had seen so many years ago when he had pulled her into the exercise room on Titanic to offer her a way out.

"I may be Josephine's father, but I know that because she has never met me or had me around that it could be a weird adjustment for her. I want to promise you right now that I will never try to force a relationship with my daughter that she doesn't want to have with me. If she wants to get to know me and have me in her life then I would be honored, but I will never push it, and I will never expect anything from either of you. I promise. Just because I'm here now doesn't mean that I expect us to pick up where we left off."

"Jack… I love you too. I have loved you. The reason, actually, that I was so exhausted yesterday was because I was up the night before with thoughts of you. I think that somehow I've always known you weren't fully gone, and this house has kept the memory of you alive for me in a way. When I saw you crossing that yard yesterday I thought I may have been going crazy, and I think its just now settling in that this is real. You're here."

"I am here," he responds, eyes not leaving hers, and she nods.

"I want to be with you, Jack. I want to spend as much time with you as possible. It's all I've wanted for a decade. I just— I think we should start slow. Not just for Josephine, but for me and you as well."

"Alright," Jack says, giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "How about we start slow with breakfast?" He asks. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

— — — —

Its later on in the morning when Rose approaches the diner, and upstairs apartments where Mrs. Richardson had taken Josephine to stay the night. She knows that she could have waited longer and spent more time with Jack, and that Miranda, being the only one in the town to know their full story, wouldn't have minded, but Rose felt the need to see her daughter, who was no doubt confused as to what was going on. While visiting Miranda and her son William was something the pair did regularly, It was odd for anyone other than Rose to meet her daughter after school unless it was planned ahead of time, and in the young girl's short life, she had never once spent a night away from home. Needless to say, Rose was feeling a bit guilty, and like she had some explaining to do to her daughter before she or Jack could do anything else. She still felt rather overwhelmed by this whole situation, and she had no doubt that seeing her daughter would calm her nerves a bit.

She lets herself into the empty diner, not open until dinner time on Saturdays, with her own key, having worked there for long enough to earn the trust to be given one, and makes her way to a hallway off the back of the kitchen where she knocks on the door to the apartment above. It's young William who answers the door, still looking rather sleepy as he invites Rose inside.

"Mama!" Jo, dressed in the simple blue dress that Rose had packed for her, with a warm grey sweater over top, runs to her mother, hugging her around the middle. Rose hugs her back, squeezing her tight before placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Hi, my baby," she says, "Did you have a fun time?"

The young girl nods, but gazes at her mother. "Yes, but why did I have to stay here?" she asks, curious. "Why didn't you get me from school?"

"I'll tell you everything in just a little while, darling. Let me just talk to Mrs. Richardson first. Why don't you go upstairs and collect your things?"

Josephine wants to protest, Rose can tell, but with a stern look from her mother, she does as she's told, as Miranda tells William to help the girl, sending him off as well.

"Thank you for keeping an eye on her, Miranda. I don't know what I would have done if it weren't for you."

"Well, I know it must have been a shock," her dark haired friend replies. "I know I had a bit of a shock when I looked up to see Jack Dawson strolling into my diner after fifteen years, asking for you. If only his mother could see him now."

"To tell you the truth, I'm still shocked. It hasn't quite set in. I wanted to come fetch Josephine though, and explain everything to her before she hears it from anyone else around town. Who knows how many people have recognized him walking around."

Her friend nods in understanding. "Where is he now? I would have thought after so much time apart the pair of you would be attached at the hip."

"He's gone back to the Inn while I explain things to Josephine. We don't want to startle her. We decided it would be more appropriate if I explain things and prepare her a bit, and then he'll come by later to introduce himself over dinner."

Miranda nods, a small smile on her lips. "So, are you two back together?" the older woman asks.

Rose shakes her head. "No. Not right now anyway. We decided its better for now to take everything slow. Its a big adjustment for all of us, after all."

They hear Josephine and William coming back down the stairs, both giggling at something, and Mrs. Richardson addresses the young girl with a fond smile. "Well Miss Dawson, it was a pleasure having your company. Why don't you and your mother go have a talk down in the diner and I'll bring you both some tea."

To Rose's amusement, her daughter curtsies to Miranda, thanking her very much, which sends William into another fit of laughter which sends Jo glaring in his direction. Rose thanks her friend, and holds he door open for her daughter, collecting the girl's bag from the floor, and following her out to take a seat with her at the empty diner bar top.

She's about to address her daughter when the girl speaks first.

"Mama, where were you?" Jo has her arms crossed in front of her, looking very grumpy

"Josephine, what I am about to tell you is very serious, honey. Something has happened that is going to change a lot of things in our lives, and it may be very surprising for you to hear. Before I tell you, I want you to know that no matter what, I love you, and if you ever need to talk about anything, you just come to me, okay?"

Josephine nods, some of her sleek strawberry blond hair falling from her braid.

"My dear, do you remember that talk we had about your father the other night? When I said that he loves us very much, and that if he were here we would all be a family?"

Her daughter nods, looking up at her, confused, and Rose bites her lip, unsure what Jo's reaction to the news will be.

"Josephine… your father has survived. He's come back."

The shock on the young girl's face mirrors what Rose's must have looked like the afternoon before.

"Mama, I don't understand…" the nine year old is tearing up now, her face going red. "How…"

Rose herself feels tears coming on again for what seems like the hundredth time over the past twenty-four hours. "He lived, baby. I was wrong this whole time. We just lost each other. He never stopped looking for us, though. And then the war happened, but he's back!" She closes the space between them, hugging her shocked and crying daughter to her chest as Miranda comes in quietly to place tea in front of them before leaving again.

"Where is he?" Jo asks, looking around now as if he was hiding somewhere.

"He is getting some rest at an Inn, darling. He's traveled a long way and we had a lot of talking to do last night. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are right now. You'll get to meet him this evening."

"Are we really going to be a family?" she asks, and Rose can see with a bit of sadness that she's trying not to get her own hopes up.

Rose nods, wiping some tears from the young girl's cheeks. "Yes, baby. Maybe not right away, but yes, we are. It has been a very long time since your father and I have seen each other, so we've decided to take things very slow, a day at a time, but he knows all about you and is so excited to meet you, if you would like to meet him."

Hope shines in Josephine's eyes, and it lightens Rose's heart, which is starting to grow increasingly less heavy as Jack's survival and what it could mean really starts to sink in.


	7. Seeing Ghosts

Jack thought he had been nervous on the way to see Rose on the day before, but that was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. He had spent most of the day asleep in his small room at the Inn, as he had spent the majority of the previous night awake, thinking, and marveling at having Rose alive and well, asleep in his arms. Even now he felt as if it wasn't completely real.

He had gone back to the Inn when Rose had gone to fetch her daughter from Mrs. Richardson's, and slept until after noon. After getting up, he had done some exercises to help his bad leg, and then made his way into town, ignoring the odd looks and whispers he was attracting. Having been off in the war for several years, Jack had very few possessions to call his own that weren't of military issue, and only had two complete sets of civilian clothes, both of which were at that point very old and out-dated, not that he cared much about fashion. He was determined, however, to look nice this evening, if not for Rose, then to make a good impression on the daughter he would be meeting for the very first time. While his military stipend left over from the war was not large, he could afford some clothes, especially if he was to be looking for a new job soon, and if he was honest with himself it also just felt good to be wearing something new for once.

Finally, its nearing six o'clock, and he's making his way down a long road off of a back street of the town towards the two story farm house he had grown up in. It's still February, and the cold is nowhere near being done with, so in the darkening street, he's careful of any lingering ice. Walking was hard enough nowadays without injuring himself further. He cannot help, looking at this same old muddy drive that he had walked as a kid, but to think of the past; his mother and father, his twin sister who had gone unmentioned since her death. What would they think of him now? Would they be proud? Disappointed? Would they approve of Rose? He knows that they would; his mother would have adored her. His father would have called her high spirited in his matter-of-fact tone. He liked to think that she and his sister would have gotten along very well, maybe even being the best of friends.

As the house comes into view in the fading light, an upper window, what would have been his sister's room, and the whole bottom floor are electrically lit- something he had never seen before from the outside, and somehow that illumination cleared away some of the ghosts lingering at the edge of his mind. This had been his family home, but now it belonged to a different family- Rose and her daughter. Maybe, someday soon, if he was lucky, they would be his family as well. For so long he had remembered every detail of this place; every stone and board. He could lay on the battlefields of Lys and Calais and picture the way the red rust tin roof sat on top of the cool grey stone, and hear the sound of the rain beating against it as he drifted to sleep in his childhood room, full of the comforts he had missed on the road in the years that followed. When he hadn't been dreaming of Rose during the war, this was the place his thoughts would take him, and walking towards it now, it still seemed like a welcoming refuge.

As he draws within a hundred yards of it now, he sees the face of a young girl gazing from the top window, and blinks, wondering if he is seeing ghosts, as the girl looks very much like his sister at a young age. Within moments, however, he can see the young girl running down the staircase and into the entryway, calling something over her shoulder as he approaches the wraparound porch, and through the front door he can see Rose heading towards the entryway with a hand on the young girl's back. With a flutter in his stomach, Jack realizes that this is his daughter. He is about to meet his daughter for the very first time.

In his lifetime, Jack has rarely been nervous, and for the life of him, cannot recall a time when he as ever been this tongue tied. Rose opens the door with a smile, which he immediately returns before stepping in out of the cold, and then Josephine comes into view, and his heart stops with his feet. Immediately, he knows that whether its because he is her father, or because of the curious and yet open way she is gazing at him, he already feels a connection to this child.

It's Rose who breaks the silence. "Jack, I'd like you to meet your daughter, Josephine."

Jack's eyes slide to Rose's, who gives him a slight nod, and back to Josephine's. The girl is in some ways a spitting image of his mother; his sister, and even himself, and in other ways looks very much like Rose, and being able to recognize these traits in her appearance is both strange and comforting. She really is his daughter.

The silence still persists, and Rose tries again. "Josephine, darling, this is your father, Jack Dawson."

Jack swallows hard, and remembers the two little bouquets he had picked up that afternoon, which he had been planning to present to them upon knocking on the door. He hadn't knocked, and had all but forgotten, upon seeing Josephine in the window. Now, he looks back up at Rose, who seems nervous herself, he realizes, and offers her the small bundle of red roses. "For the lady of the house," he says, his tone mocking that of a proper gentleman, which he is glad to see makes Rose smile as she accepts the flowers.

He then kneels down to his daughter's level before holding out a bouquet of yellow Roses to her, smiling sincerely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Josephine. I hope you and I can be good friends."

The young girl takes the bouquet before shaking Jack's offered hand with an unsure smile of her own. "Me too," she says quietly: shyly.

Jack straightens up, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and looks to Rose who is giving her daughter's shoulder a squeeze. "Darling, why don't you go put these lovely flowers Jack has brought us into some water?" she asks, handing the girl her bouquet. Josephine nods, glancing back shyly at Jack, before hurrying into the kitchen.

"I'm sure you've won her heart already with those flowers, Jack, you didn't have to do that."

Jack shrugs. "I've never had much chance to give flowers to pretty girls," he says, "so I figured, why not?"

Rose gives him another bright smile, and he has to keep himself from reaching out to touch her again, or hold her hand, reminding himself to keep it slow.

"Can I take your coat?" she asks, and reaches out to take it as he removes it from his shoulders. "I realized I never offered yesterday."

"I think we were both a little distracted yesterday," he responds, handing the grey coat over before adjusting the suspenders on his shoulders. The shirt he had ended up with was a cream colored button-up over dark brown pants. While he couldn't stand ties, he had purchased a pair of suspenders and two vests.

When they reach the kitchen, the nine year old girl is carefully arranging the flowers, alternating red and yellow, within a glass vase that had belonged to Jack's mother, and perhaps his grandmother before that. He is beginning to find that its nice to see familiar objects again, and he cannot picture a better scenario for ever entering this old house than to have it lived in by the love of his life, and his own child, even if they weren't yet really a family. As they sit down to a simple dinner of a beef and vegetable stew and buttered bread, Jack feels as if he's dining like a king, if only because of the company. His daughter is lovely and charming, opening up a little after some time, and he is able to learn some more about her, and shares some stories of his own as well as hear about Rose and Josephine's lives here in Chippewa falls. Even with dinner coming to a close, and the young girl's bedtime drawing near, Jack cannot think of a more perfect evening. He still feels the ghosts of this place tugging at the corners of his memory, but with Rose and Josephine, he knows that he has more memories to create.


	8. The Stress of it All

Rose doesn't think she's been this stressed possibly since having Josephine. Its a Wednesday, and with cold rainy weather outside mixing with snow , it seems the entire town has decided to descend upon the diner for a warm meal, because they are rarely ever this busy. That, or they're all just there to gossip and speculate about her and Jack's sudden reappearance, and she suspects its the latter. She has been catching whispers all week, and with the way tables go quiet as she passes by and eyes seem to follow her, she is getting a little unnerved and irritated. It's already late in the day for the lunch crowd- nearing three o'clock, and almost time for her to pick Josephine up from school, and she still has six full tables. At the very least, she'll get good pay for the day if everyone tips as they should, but by this time she is usually cleaned up and on her break.

Catching Miranda in the kitchen as she prepares to run more food to the dining room, she mentions the time. "I'll be having to go collect Jo pretty soon here. I've never seen it so busy in the middle of the week."

"I know. I'm glad William is at an age to walk home himself. If you'd like I can ring over to the school and have Josephine come with him? I don't think either of us will be getting out of this mess anytime soon."

Rose is apprehensive, but nods. While Josephine had never walked home alone before, she had gone with William or her friend Sophie to the general store and back on occasion, and Will would look out for her. "Alright. As long as they come straight here. Some of the children have been picking on her lately, and I don't want anything to happen."

Rose can tell when she drops the food in her hands off that the table is displeased with waiting, having seen her in conversation through the window to the kitchen, but at this point fake pleasantries with the town gossips are beyond her, and she fetches them some drink re-fills without a word, and goes back to trying to hear a bit of what people are saying when she walks away.

— "She's a liar. He's not dead! I bet she came here just to get his family's money and property!"

"No, no, she's never claimed any of the money. I have that on authority with Mr. Willshire down at the bank. And have you seen the place? Its like it hasn't been touched. The yard is overgrown." —

— "I heard she was running away from another marriage. She was pregnant after all, and no one can deny that child looks like a Dawson. But the way she walks and talks- she must be from money. My guess is that Jack Dawson got her pregnant by accident and then didn't want to do his duty as a father, so shipped her off here. He always was a little tramp." —

— "If they really are married, you'd expect them to step out together. It's Jack's house, so why is he staying at an Inn? I bet he didn't even know she was here. Or else there are problems between them.

"Well, I heard form Carol who's friends with the Innkeepers that he never returned to sleep two nights this week, and then spent the whole next days in his room. If he's not staying over at that house, then where was he? What kind of man leaves a wife and child for ten whole years?"

"Well, he was in the war, Eva. He served for our country, that should account for something."

"Not for the six years before that, if you ask me." —

Rose is keeping her head down, clearing plates and handing out checks as best as she can without losing her temper. It's one thing for people to gossip about her— they've been doing that for years, but to talk ill of Jack when he's done nothing wrong… Its becoming clear that people are there to just to gossip and try to get a reaction from her or gain something else to talk about, and she's not about to give them that satisfaction. She supposes that with as small as the town is, they're all bored and happy to have something new to talk about other than the weather and the scandalous jazz band that had taken to playing in Chippewa Falls as well as Eau Claire, bringing outlawed liquor with it. Right about now Rose could use a drink, and she is certainly tired of being the center of attention.

When Josephine comes in through the front, right on William's heels, Rose greets her with a tight hug and a quick kiss to the forehead. "Hello baby. I'm sorry I wasn't there to meet you. We've been unexpectedly busy today." Rose motions around the still half full dining room, thankful that things are starting to quiet down as other parents head out to meet their children, or home to start thinking about supper or do whatever else. She doesn't want Josephine to hear any of what they have to say about herself and Jack, if she can help it.

"That's okay, Mama. Maybe I can walk with Will more often and save you a trip." Josephine is looking at her earnestly, but Rose isn't sure that she's not up to something. She shrugs it off for now.

"We'll talk about it later, darling. Why don't you go have a snack and start on your homework in the kitchen while I finish up."

Its past five when they finally get the place cleared out and closed. Its the longest shift that Rose thinks she's ever worked, and they're still not done. There's an awful mess in the dining room and the kitchen. Knowing that it would be dinner time before they got the place fixed up without help, Miranda and Rose both agree to pay their kids a full dollar each to help sweep up and wipe tables as they tackle the dishes in the back, and the kids are more than happy to oblige with the enticement.

Rose is stood at the sink, sorting through the dishes when Miranda speaks up.

"I know today must have been rough for you, Rose, and I'm sorry for it. The town always reacts like this when anything out of the usual happens. They'll quiet down soon. You remember what it was like when you first arrived."

"I remember," says Rose, "but I was a stranger then. These people have known me for a decade now, and I hadn't realized how much bad judgement had been passed. I'm not naive. I know how it all looks, but truthfully, I did think him to be gone. Except for not having really been married, I never lied. And we would have been married, I believe that."

"I know that, love. You don't have to convince me. I've seen the way that boy's eyes light up when he talks about you. Its just hard for the rest of the town to believe, and after the way that Jack disappeared after the accident, a lot of people around here felt they were being snubbed in spite of their kindness to him. This town loved his family, and they just didn't understand Jack's need to get away."

"I guess its hard not to be so narrow minded when you live your whole life within a five mile radius," Rose gripes, tossing a fork into the sudsy water with a splash, before realizing that her boss and friend fell into that category as well. "Sorry," she says, looking up sheepishly. "I didn't mean…"

"It's alright. I know you didn't mean me. And I assure you, Rose, I never had any intention of staying here forever, but I met Allen, and like you with Jack, I fell in love. We made a life here, and when he died… and with Will being born, well, I couldn't just leave. Besides, I like it here at the diner. How many women in our day and age can say they manage their own business? Hell, we've only had the vote for two years. I'm a rebel in my own right, eh?" she nudges Rose with a soapy glove, earning a smile. "Things will calm down. You'll see. In the mean time, I think you need to get everything sorted out with Jack. He really can't stay in that Inn forever without being driven mad by townsfolk or running out of money, so I think you ought to talk with him about his living situation if you know what I mean. Why don't you take a week or two off and get everything figured out? You deserve a vacation."

"Can you afford that?" Rose asks, eyebrows raised.

"Honey, somehow I don't think it will be quite as busy in here if you're not around, and I got along fine on my own for years. I love having you here, but I'll manage for a bit. You just get everything sorted while things quiet down in town, and I'll expect to see you back here happier than ever."

— — —

It is much later than usual when Rose and Josephine return to the house. They had stayed for dinner with the Richardsons, and neither had expected to return home well after dark to find Jack sitting on the front porch smoking a cigarette. Its all the better though, as Rose had wanted to speak with him anyway.

He stands upon seeing them and gives Rose's hand a kiss, which makes Josephine giggle.

"Jack, what are you doing here? I didn't think I'd be seeing you until tomorrow."

"I wanted to see you," he says, refraining from placing a hand on her arm like he wants to. "I didn't think it would be so late… I, uh, I can come back tomorrow if you'd prefer." Jack hates that he feels so unsure of everything right now. He's been here nearly a week now, and aside from those first two days, he has barely seen Rose. As much as he knows they need to take things slow, they've barely had more than a short conversation alone since that first morning. He had also gotten some information that day that he felt the need to share with her.

"No!" Says Rose, perhaps a little too quickly. "I'm sorry. Please, come in. We hadn't planned to be so late. It was just an extraordinarily busy day at the diner, and then we ended up staying there for dinner."

"I saw how busy it was this morning," he says, leaning on the porch railing to take the weight from his leg as he turns to follow the two women through the door. "I was going to stop in and say hello, but with the crowd I thought I'd better not."

"Its probably for the better," Rose says, and he sees an emotion he can't place pass over her features. He wonders if she's been hearing the gossip as well but thinks better of asking right away and changes the subject.

"So, Miss Josephine," he says, watching as his daughter kicks her shoes off and places them by the door. Her long hair is down and messy, and she looks very tired. "I was in town hall today and I saw you walk past with William Richardson carrying a big old canvas under your arm. Are you working on a painting?"

He had been told all about Josephine's interest in art, and was curious to see her work, when the young girl felt up to it.

Josephine blushes and nods.

"Jo?" Rose questions, "I didn't see you carry in a canvas. When did you start painting, darling?"

"In school. It was supposed to be a surprise, Mama. Will has been hiding it in his room for me until its ready."

Jack covers his mouth looking apologetic. "Oh! I didn't mean to spoil a surprise, Josephine. I'm sorry."

She looks between him and her mother and gives a shrug. "That's okay. Mama was gonna find out anyway. I still won't let you see it until its done."

"That's quite alright, Jo," Rose responds, wrapping an arm around the girl. "Does this have anything to do with why you wanted to walk home with Will more often? So you could keep the painting a secret?"

She nods, her red-blond hair falling into her eyes where its smoothed back out by her mother. "Well, how about I begin meeting you every other day and you can either walk here or the diner if Will is able to escort you. You're nearly ten years old, darling. I guess its about time I let you have a bit more freedom around here, huh?"

The smile that greets the both of them can only be described as radiant as the child thanks and hugs her mother tightly. "As long as you continue being the good girl I know you are, I don't have a problem with it," says Rose. "Now, why don't you go have your bath and get into bed while Jack and I talk?"

The girl nods, and hugs her mother again. "Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight Mr. Jack." Jack gives her a smile and a little wave, saying goodnight as well, and watches the young girl run up the stairs.

"You're so good with her, Rose," he says as he follows her into the sitting room, watching as she turns on a few more lamps and sets about lighting a fire. "Here, let me take care of that." He takes the matches from her hand and has the kindling lit in short time.

"I'm perfectly capable of managing, Jack, but thank you," she says, removing her coat and sitting down on the couch with a sigh, dropping her bag to the floor.

"I know you are," he says, before blowing on the embers some more. "I just like to feel useful." Once the fire is roaring away happily he takes off his coat as well, joining her. She's leaning back, eyes closed. She looks tired as well, he notes, and he studies her face while she's not looking. Her complexion is still very fair, but she has a smattering of freckles over her nose that hadn't been there before. She's also forming faint laugh lines in the corners of her mouth and eyes. They have both been through a lot before the age of thirty and it was starting to show prematurely. Her hair, still as fiery as ever is beginning to escape from the bun she's had it in all day, and pieces are coming undone to frame her face. He wishes he had pencil and paper on him to capture the way she looks just now, but if he's honest with himself, he would like to capture every move she ever makes.

"What did you want to talk with me about?" She asks, opening her eyes to catch him staring.

"I had a meeting with Mr. Murphy today."

"Oh?" she asks, pulling her knees up under her and turning towards Jack to listen.

"Well, more like he asked to speak with me. He wanted to talk about my father's will, and the family assets."

"The house," Rose says, nodding.

Jack shakes his head. "The house, yes, but apparently there are also titles to Pa's carpentry business, deeds to several acres of land back here, some stock and bond investments, and several bank accounts. I had no idea when I left that any of that existed. They never told me. Mr. Murphy says its because I was too young. Did you know about any of it?"

Rose shakes her head, and he can tell from her expression that she's surprised as well and somewhat defensive. "No. I mean, I was surprised they even had me move into this house, Jack. I had no clue even about the house when I arrived. I had told them that we were married but that was mostly because I was very obviously pregnant and didn't think they'd accept me here. They assumed I was just here for land or money, and that wasn't the case. Many of them didn't even believe I knew you until after Jo was born and they saw the resemblance. I only first came because I wanted to learn more about you."

Jack reaches forward, placing a hand on her forearm which is resting on the back of the sofa. "Shh, Rose. I know. Its alright. I was just curious. Did they give you any information back then?" He asks, "Anything about accounts or the property?"

She shakes her head. "Just the address and the key and how to get here," she says with a shrug. "I knew that your family had passed. You had told me as much, and Mr. Murphy told me the story, and I learned more about your family and your life from Miranda. I had never thought there was anything left, from the way you made it sound. I guess you didn't really know either. I was surprised there was a house and that it had been left untouched. I also can't say that I've done that well of a job keeping it up, but I've tried."

"You've done an amazing job, Rose. Granted the yard could use some work," he says with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, "but we never had electricity or new appliances, and you did that. I don't know why you kept everything looking the same, you didn't have to, but you've definitely kept it in better shape than it would be if it had still been sitting empty." Jack shakes his head, heaving a sigh of his own. "I guess I'm a bit annoyed that they kept you in the dark, even after you told them you're my wife. You would have been the next to inherit. You have a right to it."

Rose shakes her head, frowning. "But I don't, Jack. I told them I was, but I'm not your wife. I feel like I've been living a borrowed life here, and everyone can see right through me. They knew all along I wasn't telling the full truth, and now that you're back here alive its even more apparent." She has tears forming in the corners of her eyes that she attempts to blink back. "Its all I've been hearing anybody say all week. The gossip is driving me mad!"

Jack's hand runs down her forearm until he's grasping her fingers in his. "Well, no-one has any right to question it anymore," he says, sucking in a breath. "Rose I know I should have come to you first, but I was there, and I could do something about it, and I was just so mad that I never knew about any of this… your name has been added to the documents: all of them, and Josephine's name as well, in a living will. If anything happens to me now, or god forbid, you, it will all go to her. I wanted to make sure you were both protected, legally."

"Jack…" Rose is stunned. "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely, Rose. As long as you're okay with it. Josephine is my daughter, and I love both of you. I want to make sure you're taken care of, and as it turns out, I'm not such a poor guy anymore. I do have something to offer you."

"Jack…"

"The thing is," he continues, cutting her off, eyes locked on hers, trying to read her, "In the eyes of the law, on paper at least, we are married now, legally. I signed to have your name added, and in doing so, technically, on paper, we're married. I hope that's okay. I hope that wasn't the wrong thing for me to do."

Rose nods, tears springing to her eyes again and falling this time. "Yes, that's okay, Jack. Of course its okay. It means our daughter will always have a place to call home, and I can never thank you enough for that. Jack, I have never needed things, or money. You know that. You have never needed to offer me anything. All these years I've only wanted you; for you to be alive and with me, and somehow you are, and I am so happy because of it no matter what this town has to say… and now, to hear you call me your wife, even though we haven't had a proper wedding, or even a proper kiss in ten years… Jack you have no idea how special you are to me."

Listening to her, Jack's face lights up. "We don't need to do anything properly," he says, grinning. "Unless of course you want to."

"I guess our whole relationship has been a bit unorthodox," says Rose, wiping at her eyes with the back of her free hand.

"A bit?" asks Jack with a laugh, reaching to dry her tears with his shirt sleeve. "We met, had a kid, waited ten years, and then got married without really getting married, and I haven't even kissed you since you were seventeen. It's a goddamn tragedy if you ask me."

"We can fix that," she says, giving him a coy smile. She know's he'll give in, and he does too, completely unable to resist anymore.

The kiss is sweet, starting out chaste and growing in passion, and is everything that Jack has been wanting for the past decade. Her lips still fit perfectly with his, just as he remembered, and their mouths move together searching out lost time as his thumb moves to trace her jaw, her fingers threading through his hair. Both of them are completely unaware of the little girl in a nightgown and wet hair creeping silently back up the staircase, a small smile on her face having just witnessed their kiss.


	9. Figuring Things Out

"You wanted to talk to me about something as well?" Jack asks after they finally pull away from each other. "You mentioned it earlier."

Rose nods, gathering her thoughts. With all that Jack had just told her, she had nearly forgotten what she had been planning to speak to him about tomorrow; about the conversation with Miranda earlier that day.

"Oh, yes," she says, settling back into the sofa again, trying to figure out how she wants to go about saying all she needs to. "Well, Jack, after the busyness if the day, and how all of the gossip around the diner, Miranda thinks it may be best if I take a few weeks off to — well, to get sorted."

Jack frowns. "All the talk of my showing up here hasn't put you out of a job has it?"

"No! Oh, no, that's not it at all, Jack. It's just, Miranda sees that this is all an adjustment for me, and has given me a bit of, well, a vacation. I'll still be paid, I just won't be working for a fortnight in order to.. get settled."

"Oh?" Says Jack, still not fully understanding what she's trying to get at.

Rose closes her eyes for a second, steeling herself. She needs to just come out with it. "Jack, I think you should move in here. I want you to move in here…"

"Rose-"

"It just makes sense," she says, rambling now, afraid to hear an actual answer. "I mean, you're paying for a room at an Inn that you've already not returned to twice in order to sleep on this old couch instead, and I know what that Inn is costing you— its where I stayed when I first arrived, plus, well, it is your house and —"

"Rose." Jack says again, laying a hand on hers. "I will move in, but only if you're sure. Only if you truly want me here. I don't want anything between us to move faster than you're ready for. I want to do everything right."

"I do want you here, Jack. I truly do. And I know that its early days, and that we said we would take things between us slow, and I still want to do that if that's okay; still sleep separately for now but share the living spaces."

"Absolutely," he says, giving her hand another reassuring squeeze. "That's fine with me."

"I think for now, for our own sakes, and for the sake of Josephine, it's better if we have separate rooms. I'll continue to stay in the room down here like I always have, and you can have the master bedroom upstairs… or your old room if you prefer that, but I think the bed in there might be a bit small for you now."

A frown tugs at Jack's lips again, worry line deepening between his brows. "Are you not sleeping in the master bedroom now?" he asks, tilting his head to the side.

Rose looks down at their joined hands, brushing her thumb over and over his knuckle in a nervous gesture. "No. I never have. It felt like invading someone else's space to be in there. I'm sure your parents were lovely people, Jack, and I didn't want to dishonor their memory in any way by taking the room. It's a lot of why I barely changed anything around here. It wasn't mine to change."

Jack shakes his head. "Well, it's yours to change now, Rose. Officially. I give you all the permission you could ever want. If my parents were around now I'm positive they would just be thrilled to have you in the family. If I'm going to be staying here I can't have you cooped up down here in the smallest room in the house. There's not even a washroom down here."

"Really, Jack, I couldn't stay in that room. At least, not the way it is now. Plus, I'm perfectly accustomed to my room down here. It's quite comfortable."

Jack bites his tongue, having better sense than to argue. He would just have to fix the master suite up himself and convince her to switch.

"Alright. I'll take that room then, for now. I think it would bring up too many memories I want to leave in the past for me to stay in my old room right now."

Rose nods, understanding, and stifling a yawn.

"Did you want to stay tonight?" She asks, untucking her legs from under her and smoothing her skirts before standing up. "Or did you want to go back to the Inn?"

"What would you rather?" he asks, standing as well before shifting his weight off of his aching bad leg.

He's searching her eyes, reading her again, and she finds it impossible to lie when he does that. "If I'm honest, Jack, the past two times you've stayed, that first night and then after that dinner, even from my bedroom with you out on the couch, just knowing that you were somewhere in the house made me sleep a lot sounder. You make me feel safe just by being here."

Jack smiles, his heart swelling. "I'll stay then. I can always get my things tomorrow."

"It'll be the talk of the town, I'm sure," Rose jokes, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "I'll show you where upstairs you can find towels and linens. You'll probably want to change the sheets on that bed. I don't think I've done it since just moving in."

"Alright," Jack responds, following her up stairs that he hasn't walked since he was fifteen. Everything in the hallway was much the same, as he had come to expect. Rose was using a different closet for her linens, and the door that he knew to be Josephine's now by the top of the stairs no longer had the embroidered "Julia" on it that his mother had made the way his old door still says "Jack," but nothing else had changed.

Rose turns back to him with an arm full of sheets and towels, which he takes, and she's watching him, looking a little uncomfortable. "I'm sorry if its weird for you to be up here," she says, apprehensive.

Jack nods, not willing to lie to her. "It is little harder than I expected, but I'll be okay," he says, placing his free hand on her upper arm. He limps forward to the end of the hall, and opens the door to what had used to be his parents' room, stepping in and laying the bundle of fabric he's carrying onto the bed before pausing to look around, and then turn back to Rose who is standing just outside the doorway.

"I'll be more than okay, Rose. Don't worry about me. I'm just glad that we've found each other again, and that we're under the same roof. With a little work, and packing up their things this room will be great." He reaches for her hands again now that both of his are free. "I've said it before, Rose and I'll say it again however many times you need to hear it; winning that ticket was the best thing that ever happened to me because it brought me to you. Anything bad that has come before or after has only set in motion my finding you, and I'd go through it all again if it meant I'd wind up here and now."

Leaning forward, he kisses her once on the lips and again on the forehead. "Go get some sleep, love. We'll figure more of everything out tomorrow."


	10. Early Morning

Jack doesn't sleep for a long while that night. He can't, at first. The only thing that has changed in this room since his parents' passing is the addition of an electric light. Their clothes still sit in the drawers, musty and moth eaten now, and their photos are still framed on the bedside tables; a silver tintype picture from their wedding back in 1888 that his Pa must have paid a fortune to have done, and and a family portrait from 1906— just a year before their death. Jack knows from snooping in their room as a child that if he was to open his mother's bedside drawer he would find drawings and scribbles he and his sister had made her as children, and a book of the English poetry that she loved with little wild flowers pressed in the pages, a bottle of the perfume she always wore, and maybe some terribly stale penny sweets. In his father's drawer he was sure that he could find some old cigarettes and matches and the heirloom pocket watch he only wore on special occasions and probably his bible.

His father was never religious, so Jack had asked him about that bible once and why he had it, and his father told him that it was just good to have a copy in any house. He had then opened up the book for a fourteen year old Jack to see. The middle of the pages had all been cut out to make a box, and in their place was a small stack of papers: love notes his parents had exchanged while courting. "Not many really want to open a bible when snooping around, so its a good place to hide things you don't want found. When you find a girl you love as much as I love your mother, you'll understand why I kept these here," he had said. "She'll become your religion." It had taken Jack five more years to understand what his father meant, but once it had happened, once he had found Rose, he understood completely.

Jack changes the sheets, trying not to think too much about where he is, but finds that once he settles down into the bed, his mind continues to get the better of him. Right across the hall is the room that had once been his, and he thinks about the last day he saw it when he was too consumed by grief to care about anything he was leaving behind: all the memories of his childhood. He had been incredibly sad, and scared for his future, and he hadn't been able to take the sight of that room for one more day. Most of all though, he had felt guilty. Time and distance has made him understand that none of what happened was his fault- it had truly been an accident. The barn workshop had caught fire, and his sister had died trying to save her animals, which was just like Julia to do, and his parents had perished trying to save her. And he had been away in search of some kind of excitement which was just like him at the time; desperate for some kind of escape from the monotony of small town life, even if it was just a few hours by the lake with his friends, and yet here he was now, after years of living a vagabond existence wanting nothing more than a small town life again, at least for a while.

He needs to face that room again, but he decides that it is not the night. Tonight he would need to make himself get at least a little sleep so that tomorrow he could clean this room out and start making it fit for Rose. With any luck, if their relationship progresses where he hopes its heading, they'll be sharing this large room after some time, instead of sleeping separately. He has longed for so many years to have her in his arms at night and soon it could be a reality. He has no doubt that if anything can fend off the nightmares of his past its her.

Jack is an early riser, and always had been. When this house had kept farm animals, he had been up with the rooster crow every morning to help his twin with their chore of feeding the livestock and collecting the eggs for breakfast, and he had found that he liked the early hours— he was able to spend some time on his drawings undisturbed before being herded off to school by his overly worrisome mother. Since then, he had continued to wake early, either from necessity; one didn't want to be arrested or pick-pocketed for spending the night under a city bridge, or through a desire for the peace and quite. During the war the only times of real stillness had been the very early morning.

Despite knowing that he hadn't gotten more than three or four hours of sleep after finally nodding off after 2am, Jack is up with the rising sun. The room looks different now in the blue dawn light. Its less full of nostalgia and ghosts, and in spite of the old furniture and yellowing paint, he can see new potential for the nice room he wants to make for Rose.

Dressed again in yesterday's clothes, he makes his way out of the room and downstairs, careful not to wake the two women still sound asleep. He stokes the fire to warm the house of its chill and brews coffee in the percolator Rose had left on the kitchen counter, appreciating the familiar and warming aroma. He's killing time until Rose and Josephine are awake, and not wanting to feel nosy he avoids opening any cupboards or drawers. On a small table in a corner however, he spots a stack of blank paper, and some pens, as well as some wax crayons he assumes belong to Josephine. Taking advantage of the silence in the house he writes a letter to Fabrizio. He had intended on sending a telegram days ago to let his friend know he had arrived in Chippewa Falls safely, but had since, understandably, been distracted. His best friend however deserved to know what had happened; that he had arrived to find Rose alive, and with a daughter, and that they had welcomed him into their home. Fabrizio had been with them on Titanic, too, and he had seen Jack's misery afterward. He deserved to know of Jack's newest revelation and change of circumstances, and Jack knew Fabrizio would be overjoyed, and probably jump at the first chance to visit.

With one letter done and the house still quiet, Jack hesitates for a bit before starting his next correspondence. Molly Brown had helped him a lot after he had been pulled from the Atlantic, and for a time she had become somewhat of a mother figure to Jack. He had been distant since returning from the war however, and he felt guilty for it, but knew that Molly worried over his wellbeing. He hadn't wanted to be a burden, or worry her further with his injuries and the pain they still gave him so he had written very infrequently, and when he did it was brief. Now, however, with Rose alive, he felt that Molly should know everything. And while the woman still has ties to Rose's old life, he trusts her not to inform anyone in Cal's circle that Rose Dewitt-Bukater is still alive. He knows that Molly will simply be happy for them both, and glad that Jack has found some hope after so long in a dark place.

He's nearly finished when he hears light footsteps approach, and looks up from his seat to see Josephine peering at him from the doorway to the kitchen.

"Hello there," he says, meeting her eye while he folds his letters and sticks them in his vest pocket.

"What are you doing?" She asks curiously, not even questioning his presence in her kitchen.

"I was writing some letters to a few friends," he answers easily. "I've been traveling to get to Wisconsin for quite some time, and I should let them know I've arrived in once piece."

"Oh." She accepts that answer, and trots toward the pantry, pulling out a box of corn flakes.

She looks back at Jack. "Would you like some?" She asks politely.

"Sure," Jack responds, standing to join her. "How kind of you to offer." She really is a polite and well mannered little girl, if a little shy, and Jack finds her completely charming. He wonders if Rose had been like this as a child. If he's not careful he knows he'll find himself completely wrapped around Jo's little finger in no time.

She pours two bowls and retrieves the milk form the ice box. He watches amused has she shakes a heaping spoonful of sugar over her own cereal before looking up at him. "Momma says too much sugar isn't good for me, but I don't like them without it," she explains.

Jack can't help but grin, amused. "Me neither," he admits, copying her and adding a generous spoonful to his cereal as well, making her giggle.

"What are you two up to?" He hears from behind them, and turns as if caught being a naughty child. Rose is leaning in the doorway watching them, arms crossed in a cozy looking dressing gown, eyebrow raised in amusement, and Jack grins at her impishly.

"We're just making breakfast, Momma," Josephine says innocently.

Rose smiles, coming forward to push her daughters messy curls from her face. "Not too much sugar, I hope," she says, and Jo giggles again before going to have a seat at the small table.

Jack's eyes follow Rose as she pours a cup of coffee from the pot Jack had brewed before adding milk and taking a seat by her daughter.

"You're an early riser," she comments, and Jack shrugs, going to sit by them as well, taking his bowl of cereal along.

"Always have been," he admits. "There used to be a rooster that stood right at that back door every morning to crow as loud as it could to wake us up. They say roosters crow because the sun is rising, but I always said its because they want their breakfast more than we do. I've been waking with the sun for as long as I can remember, unless I've had a particularly late night."

"I can't say the same for myself," admits Rose. "I'm a dreadfully heavy sleeper. Sometimes Josephine here has to wake me up for work. Unfortunately, she's inherited my sleeping habits and sometimes we're both late."

"Well, I guess with me here you won't have that problem anymore." That gets a happy smile from Rose and he's glad.

Jack looks at the clock on the wall. Its nearing seven-thirty now. There was still an hour until Josephine had to be at school, and he supposes that he should go into town and take care of checking out of the Inn and post his letters. He doesn't know Rose's plans for the day now that she has time off, but he would like to find some fresh white paint in town if he can. He wonders if he can walk along with them when Rose takes Josephine to school, or if that would garner too much attention.

He waits until Josephine has left the kitchen to get ready for her day before he broaches the subject, but Rose speaks first.

"Its still a shock to see you here, Jack. After all this time."

He smiles somewhat ruefully. "It's a shock for me as well— being here. And finding you. I hate that we've missed so much time we can't make up." He looks at her again, taking in her tired appearance. Despite having just awoken, she is still as breathtaking as ever. He thinks of Josephine, just a floor away. "I hate that I've missed so much of Josephine's life."

Rose nods. "I'm just glad you can know her now. I'm glad she can know her father." Her smile returns, and she goes back to her coffee, but not before taking his free hand above the table, absent-mindedly stroking over his thumb.

Jack broaches the subject hesitantly. "I reckon I should check out of the Inn this morning," he starts, and Rose nods, still looking down. He continues. "I also need to post some letters. I've written to Fabri and Molly, letting them know the news. I, uh, was wondering how you felt about me walking into town with you and Josephine…"

When Rose stills, he continues in a rush. "It's perfectly alright if you'd prefer I go separately. I know this is still an adjustment, and with the way people talk.."

"Jack." She squeezes his hand. "Its perfectly alright. We can't avoid the town forever. They're just going to have to get used to us." She has a steely determination in her eyes when she says this that tells Jack not to argue, so he nods instead.

"Okay." He says it easily, like he's assured that everything will be fine. Realistically, he knows that they will be met with more looks and whispers and maybe the odd remark, but the sooner they get it over with, the better, and then maybe they, and the town can move on from the shock of his arrival. He has things he wants to do, and he isn't going to let small town gossip stop him or delay creating a happy life with his family.


	11. Reputations At Stake

Josephine took her time getting ready for school that day. As she pulled on an old navy blue dress under a cream sweater, and swept her long auburn hair back into a bun at the base of her neck, she smiled to hear her mother's laughter downstairs. It was a sound that she had not heard very often and she was glad to have it. Her mother had never been particularly melancholy, but had never been super cheerful either, except on rare occasions, and to hear laughter on a normal Thursday morning lifted her daughter's heart. Although still unsure of how to act around Jack, she was glad that he was here. Josephine finally had a father, just like all of the other kids in her class.

After making her bed and packing up her things, she heads back downstairs. She finds that her mother is getting ready for the day, and Jack is in the sitting room. Still feeling shy in his presence, she sits down on the edge of the sofa with her book bag balanced on her knee.

"Hi, Josephine," Jack greets her, turning her way.

"Hello," she responds back with a small smile.

"I wanted to apologize again about your painting. I didn't mean to ruin a surprise." He's sitting relaxed with one arm leaning on the back of the sofa. He leans forward then, as if he's sharing a secret. "I'll let you in on something, and maybe you can help me," he says, and Jo's interest is peaked. She finds herself leaning forward as well.

"I am planning to redecorate the upstairs bedroom for your mother. I don't think its fair for her to be cooped up in the smallest room down here. Do you have some ideas for how I should do it up? What are her favorite colors? Does she have some favorite things or patterns I can put in there?"

Jo feels her own eyes light up with the excitement of being involved in a surprise for Rose. "Oh, I have a million ideas!" she says conspiratorially. "Momma loves lavender and blue and yellow, but no pink! She loves wild flowers and lavender, and if you do roses, make sure they're the white ones. Oh, can we get her some soft fluffy blankets? She's been using the same old one since forever."

Jack smiles at Josephine, glad of her enthusiasm, and makes a mental note of all that the little girl is telling him.

"Well, I'll find some paint first and then maybe at the weekend we can go out together and find some more things for her, how does that sound?" he asks, with a chuckle. "Maybe when its finished you can hang that painting your making her in the room for when we show her."

"Jack, that's brilliant!" Jo can't help herself as she throws her self forward, her arms around Jack's neck, all shyness forgotten. Rose has just arrived back into the room to witness this moment, and Jack is taken aback at first before finally moving to embrace the young girl as well. With his daughter in his arms, his heart feels suddenly full to bursting, and he never thought he'd feel this way in his life— this adoring of a child— this paternal. He has to struggle to keep the emotion from causing him to tear up.

Rose clears her throat from the foyer, getting both of their attention and directing a questioning look toward Jack, and Jo draws back, feeling embarrassed. "Ready to go, you two?" She asks, as she buttons up her wool jacket and pulls on a pair of gloves. Her hair is piled in a bun atop her head, and curls are already starting to escape. Jo has always thought that her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world— like a moving picture actress. She knew she would never be as beautiful as Rose. She was too odd and quirky and boyish. Other girls in her class made fun of her old clothes and long reddish hair all the time and how she was always covered in paint or charcoal, despite her effort to fit in. The only person who was really nice to her was William, and that didn't count because he was a boy and older than her. Now at least, they couldn't use her not having a father against her like they usually did— she had a real family now.

Josephine stands, smoothing her skirt back out and heads toward her mother, bag in tow. "Yes, Momma." She pulls on her own thick coat and boots, letting her mother wind a scarf around her neck as she locates her own gloves. Jack makes his way over as well, shrugging on his long coat and opening the door to step outside.

It had snowed a fresh layer overnight, and the air smells crisp and clean as they set out along the path forged by horses, carts, and the occasional automobile until they're at the edge of town where the dirt path turns into a paved walkway. Josephine walks holding her mother's hand, not caring at the moment whether it makes her seem babyish. She's walking with both of her parents— something she is so happy about and want to remember. She can feel eyes on them, but she ignores it, letting the feeling roll over her shoulders. People might not understand their family, but they're still going to become a family. She believes that.

As they walk past a larger group of people, she can hear her mother and Jack's names being mentioned, but doesn't understand what the people are talking about— something about digging gold? She feels her mother's grip tighten on her hand, and Jack steps closer to the two girls, placing a hand on the small of Rose's back. When she glances up at her mother she sees that Rose is looking down and straight ahead toward the pavement, her jaw clenched, and Jo wishes she understood what those people were saying.

She's startled out of her thoughts as they near the school yard, and William runs up to them in greeting. He has Jo's canvas under his arm, all wrapped up to hide the picture, and Jack and Rose pretend not to notice.

"Hey, Jo. Hello Mrs. Dawson, Mr. Dawson," He nods towards her parents.

"Hello, William," her mother greets with a smile.

"Call me Jack," the older man says, reaching out to shake the young boy's hand.

William turns towards Rose, reaching into his pocket for something and pulls out an envelope. "Mother said to give you this," he explains handing it off. It's her wages for the next two weeks, and Rose shakes her head. It is just like Miranda to be this thoughtful.

"Thank you, William. Please do thank your mother for me, and tell her I'll stop by for a visit soon."

Will nods with a grin, turning towards Josephine again. "Come on, Jo, I'll walk you inside. Beatrice is being particularly snotty this morning." Jo rolls her eyes at Will's protectiveness, sure that he's just showing off in front of Rose, but lets go of her mother's hand anyway, giving her a quick hug, and tossing a small smile towards Jack before following the twelve year old.

As the two kids walk away, Jack speaks up.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that young man has a crush on our daughter," he nods in William's direction.

Rose smiles then. "I think you're right," she agrees. "Not that Josephine will pull her head from the clouds any time soon in order to notice. That boy adores her."

Jack laughs. "I'm glad for that! I just because a father five days ago. It's too soon to worry about my daughter getting a boyfriend."

Rose shakes her head at Jack's silliness, sticking her hands into her pockets for warmth. "Well," she says, looking up at him. "Where to first? We may as well get our parade around town over with before I lose my nerve. I hate that people can be so harsh and judgmental."

"I know," he says, wanting to kiss her forehead, but settling on placing his hand back on her back since they're out in public. "I guess first things first I'll check out of the Inn and grab my bag. Then I've got to post these letters and I wanted to pop into the hardware store as well. Are there any errands you needed to run?"

They're making their way in the direction of the Inn now. "I should pick up some food while we're out, but that's it," she says. trying not to tense as they pass another crowd of staring onlookers. As the enter the small Inn, the chatter between mother and daughter behind the desk stops.

"Mr. Dawson," says the elder innkeeper, stepping out from behind the desk. "We were just speaking about you."

"I'll bet you were," mumbles Rose under her breath, loud enough for only Jack to hear.

"Oh?" He asks, trying to remain genial and impartial.

To her credit, the older woman has the grace to blush as she tries to explain herself. "Well yes, we were just saying what a story it must be, you and young Rose re-uniting after all this time when you knew nothing of her and the child. You've got your property back now Jack— that is we assume, as you've not returned to your lodgings several times now. Where is it that you'll be going, Rose? Have the Richardsons opened their door?"

With muddied implications, Rose bristles at the woman's answer, and finds she can't hold her tongue. "Oh yes, it's quite a story," she says enthusiastically and with mocking. "My husband, back from the dead, here in Wisconsin to kick his freeloading wife and daughter from the home they've no right to." There's a fire in her eyes as her anger flares. This woman had been awful to her when she first arrived; skeptical of the young pregnant woman on her doorstep in the dead of night— that was understandable and even forgivable, but after a decade the steeliness had not stopped and Rose was tired of remaining polite only to be met with gossip and slander. Even if these people were told the full truth, Rose doubted they would be met with understanding by many.

The innkeeper balks at Rose's outburst. "But it's true! I have it on good authority that you had that baby out of wedlock, whether it's his or not. It's shameful. And to reside in his family home for years without his knowledge— you have some nerve! If I had it my way you would have been sent packing as soon as you arrived here. It was more than apparent what kind of sins—"

Angered, Jack steps forward, between Rose and the innkeeper before more words can be exchanged and takes Rose's hand. "I should thank you not to talk to my wife in this fashion, Ma'am. For she is my wife. And if you would be so kind as to mark me as fully checked out from your establishment, I will not be returning. Rose and I will be going back to our house where we will be staying, together, with our child, very happily. For someone so pious, who claims to know what should be called shameful or a sin, maybe you should think before throwing stones and casting judgement."

It takes them only a minute or two to retrieve the rest of Jack's belongings and leave the Inn, and in that time, the innkeeper neither speaks nor moves, her jaw still wide open.

Once outside, Rose grasps at Jack's arm, stilling him in his stride. "Oh, Jack. I'm so sorry. I just got so angry." She's got tears starting in the corners of her eyes and Jack drops his things, bringing both hands to cup her face.

"Rose, It's alright. It's perfectly fine to be angry. What she said to you— I can't believe you've been dealing with all of this for so long alone." He shakes his head, wiping away some of her tears with his thumbs. "You never have to apologize to me for defending yourself. I'm glad you're so strong. You're the strongest woman I know."

The rest of their trip to town passes uneventfully. People watch them with curiosity, but the encounter no more harsh words. They're even greeted rather cheerfully by the owner of the general store where Jack posts his letters and Rose does her grocery shopping. The old man remembers Jack as a boy, when he used to come in to run errands for his parents and pick out a penny sweet for himself and his sister. This time, he's happy to pick something out for his daughter instead. Afterwards, the drop their things back at the house, and Rose returns to the school by three to collect Josephine while Jack heads back out to the hardware store, telling Rose that he's on the hunt for some tools to start fixing things up around the house.

Upon reaching the school yard, she is not at all expecting to find her daughter red-faced and sobbing in the snow with William not far away sporting his own red face, bruised knuckles and a black eye. She can see Jo's canvas laying unwrapped in the snow several feet away, the beautiful landscape of their house in summertime, a surprise that had been meant for Rose, slashed through the middle by something sharp and splashed with black ink.

Running the last few feet to her daughter, Rose has the girl up on her feet in into her arms in no time, holding her close. Through her sobs, she tries to piece together the story of what has happened, but only picks up the names Beatrice and Luke. Looking towards William, he provides the rest of the story for her.

Beatrice had been calling Jo names again all morning, and by lunch time had persuaded some of the boys in her year, namely, Lucas Smithson, to steal and hide Josephine's painting. Will had gone looking for Luke to retrieve the painting, and had wound up in a fight. Apparently it had all been meant as a cruel joke, but the boy had gone too far, spilling ink on the painting, and then ripping it with his pocket knife, saying things about Josephine and her family to make William even more angry. Now Jo's painting was ruined, and he would be in trouble at home and with the teacher for fighting,

Rose sighs, truly not understanding why kids could be so cruel, and feeling partially responsible for Josephine's troubles at school. She collects the remains of her daughter's painting, tucking it under her arm, and then walks William home to his mother. She feels responsible in a way for the boy's injuries as well and doesn't want to send him home with no explanation. Miranda, while of course disappointed in her son for resorting to violence, is not angry, and is instead consoling. Josephine however wants to hear none of it. She's still angry with Will for getting involved when she told him to leave it alone. Setting out again, Rose is hoping that Jack has returned. It has been a long day, and she and Josephine could both use some comfort.


	12. Changed

Jack enters the house slowly, the labor of hauling several gallons of paint, brushes, rollers, and a drop cloth from town weighing him down. He has been doing more walking than he's been used to doing since his injury ever since he has arrived in town, and he keeps having to remind himself that he can't move like he used to be able to. He tries his best not to let it frustrate him too much or get the better of his mood, but with that he has to take it day by day. The doctors had all said that it would be better to use his leg as much as possible rather than keep too stationary— that stretching out the muscles and staying limber would help, but the work really is painful in the mean time. With the bullets and shrapnel, a lot of muscle and ligament had been torn or ripped away, and he knows that there is still some metal left in him that gets mighty irritating in the cold. Two years of time between the incident and now has not done much by way of dulling the pain.

The house is quiet when he walks through the door, but he can tell that Rose and Josephine are home. It's warm from a fire, and he can smell food cooking in the kitchen. He lays the paint in the foyer to be taken upstairs later, and removes his coat and boots before closing up the front door and making his way toward the kitchen. Rose's back is turned to him as she stands near the sink peeling potatoes. Not wanting to startle her while she's holding a knife he calls out a greeting before crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her waist.

As he pulls her close, he can feel her letting out a sigh, relaxing into his embrace a bit. She puts the knife and potato down, turning in his arms and burying her face in his neck, breathing him in.

"Hey," he says, rubbing circles on her back. "Everything okay?" She's quiet, and its not the greeting he expected. Physical interaction between them had yet been slow coming, and here she was clinging on to him like an anchor.

Rose shakes her head no, still tucked into to crook of his neck, and he pulls away a little to look at her.

"Josephine has been dealing with bullying at school recently, and its been getting worse. It's mostly been name calling, but recently it has been more about her family and upbringing. Some of the kids stole her painting today, and ruined it. William tried to stand up for her, and got in a fight, and now she's upset with him as well because she told him not to. I got to walk him home to his mother with a black eye and split lip to tell the story."

Jack frowns, unsettled to hear about the bullying. No one wants to learn that their kid is being picked on, no matter how long you've known you're a parent.

"I don't know what to do, Jack. Consoling her only helps so much when it keeps happening, and now Will has been in an actual fight with one of the boys involved. What must his mother think? And the parents of that other boy? I'm sure they'll have something to say tomorrow." Rose shakes her head, and lets go of Jack, going back to fixing dinner, and Jack makes his way over to sit on a nearby chair, unconsciously stretching his leg out.

"You said this has been going on for a while? What are they saying to her? Where is this bullying coming from?"

"At first it was about her appearance— her hair is brighter than any of the other children, so it makes her stand out. Then some of the girls were telling her she acts like a boy— probably because she spends all of her free time with William, so she started trying to dress and act more feminine. After that they began to make fun of her clothes for being out of fashion, and most recently its been about, well, us."

Rose finally throws the pan of roasting potatoes in the oven with seasoning and butter and takes a seat across from Jack. She looks stressed, and he wishes he knew what to do to ease her worries.

"The night before you came into town, Jo was upset because one of the girls, Beatrice, had called her a bastard child. The girl had told Jo that it meant her father didn't love her enough to stay, and that her mother was a sinner for having a child out of wedlock, and so Josephine was a sinner too. If I'm being honest, that's why I got so angry at the Inn this morning. I'm sure these kids are hearing these things straight from the mouths of their parents and then repeating it at school."

Jack frowns, worriedly. "I'm sure they are learning this behavior at home, with the way this town loves to gossip. Where is Josephine?"

"I sent her upstairs to have a bath and calm down. It took the whole walk home for her tears to finally stop, and then she was in no mood to talk about it, so I decided giving her some alone time was best. She's probably in her room by now. I think right now she's more upset about her ruined painting, and William not listening to her than anything else."

"Would it be alright if I tried to talk to her?" he asks, not wanting to overstep his boundaries as far as parenting is concerned. He still has no idea what he's doing.

"Of course, you can try," Rose says, standing again to check the food. "Supper will be in about twenty minutes. Maybe you can coax her downstairs for it."

Jack nods, Standing again. Before heading upstairs, he catches Rose's hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "I'll try my best," he says, his smile calming her a bit more. It is so nice for her to have someone around to talk about this kind of thing with. It makes her feel less alone in the endeavor of raising a ten-year-old.

— — — —

The first time Jack knocks on Josephine's door, he's met with silence and a sniffle. The second time he knocks, he announces himself, and a moment later his red-faced daughter is poking her head around the doorway.

"I thought you were mama," she says, leaving the door open and going to sit back on her bed, clutching an old black and brown stuffed bear to her chest.

He grins at her in spite of himself. "You weren't going to let your mother in?" He asks, already knowing the answer. Rose had told him how headstrong and stubborn their child could be. Even just the idea of makes him wonder what Rose was like as a child.

"I already told her I didn't want to talk about it."

"Okay, so you don't wanna talk about it. That's alright. Can you show me your canvas?"

The girl shrugs, and reaches under her bed, pulling out her ruined painting and holding it towards Jack. The ink has splattered across the picture, and there's a gash through the middle. It's un-repairable, but the stretcher bars are salvageable. He thinks with some tacks and a bit of the canvas from the drop clothe he has brought home today, he can easily make her a new one. It won't do anything to save the painting, but at least she can finish the surprise for her mother that she had been so excited about.

"Wow Josephine, under the damage, this painting is beautiful. Rose said you were gifted, but this is quality work, young lady."

The little girl looks up at him, questioning.

"Really?" She asks, biting her lip.

"Absolutely," he says, pointing to a corner that's untouched by the ink. "See here, how you've captured the shadow of the pear tree on the side of the house? Its at just the right angle and shade. You've got quite the eye." Truly, he is impressed. She's not just good for a child— she's good in general. He's not sure he himself could do better. "Now, you don't have to, but if you want, I can take this one apart and make you a new canvas tonight, ready to start again in the morning. I know your mother would love a Josephine Dawson original to hang in her bedroom when its done."

The little girl sniffles again, nodding hesitantly. "Thank you, Mr. Jack."

He smiles at her, taking the canvas and setting it by the doorway. "I know you don't want to talk about it, and that's okay, but I want you to know that things will get better. Kids are mean. Most of the time they're being mean out of jealousy, or because they're not happy with something in their own life. When I was a kid, I was picked on all the time at school— I wasn't like the other boys. I didn't like sports or hunting and would much rather draw or read, and that wasn't normal to those around me. You're a very bright and talented girl, Josephine. With time, whatever these other kids are saying and doing won't matter a bit because you're going to do so many great things."

"How do you know?" She asks, looking up at Jack full of self-doubt.

"I know because you're strong, just like your mother. And you're smart, and creative, and full of talent and spirit. You're a Dawson woman, Josephine. Dawson women can do anything they want to do; my Ma and sister were amazing at everything they put their minds to, with a little hard work of course. So is your mother, and so are you."

By the time Jack is done talking, the little girl has a small smile back on her face. He persuades her to come back downstairs and enjoy a nice dinner before an early night.

— — — —

With Josephine asleep early after such a trying day, Rose is settled on the sitting room sofa, enjoying the warmth of the fire with the radio playing in the background, and watching jack assemble a new canvas for Josephine from a piece of fabric he must have had lying around. As he works, she surveys him. He's deep in concentration, making sure that the fabric is pulled tight and even on each side before placing each new tack. Her daughter had been in a much better mood after Jack's talk with her, and Rose wasn't sure how he did it, but she was grateful. She could tell that Jack was nervous about interacting with his daughter, but so far he had been doing a fantastic job.

As she watches Jack work, her eyes are drawn to his hands; the artist's hands that she loved so much once upon a time. He seems so careful in every movement he makes— very precise in all of his motions. She's still lost in thoughts of the past a few minutes later when she feels him settle onto the couch next to her.

Her hand is now in his with his careful fingers tracing circles on her palm, and her eyes are drawn to his face, drinking him in. She still can't believe how much older he looks; still can't believe that he's here at all.

She knows that the drastic change in his appearance has been mostly due to the war. She eyes the scar running down the left side of his jaw and below his neckline, obscured by facial hair he hadn't been sporting when they first met those ten years ago. The goatee suits him, she thinks. It makes him look older, more mature, while he still has a kind of boyish charm in his smile and the light of his eyes. Meeting his eyes now, though, while they still hold the optimism and kindness and adventure that had been so captivating once, they now also hold a heaviness and solemnity that had not always been there. It's unfair, she thinks, the amount of death and destruction that Jack has seen in his lifetime— first his parents and sister, and then all of the souls that had perished on Titanic, only to follow that up with the atrocities of the front lines in Europe.

"I feel as if I'll never say it enough, Jack, but I am so glad you're here. I'm still having a hard time believing that it's real."

He smiles then. "It's real, Rose."

The silence that follows is comfortable. They're able to just take in the presence of the other, and as a drama show and advertisements on the radio end, to be replaced by a slow playing orchestra, Rose finds herself pulled to her feet and into Jack's arms for a dance right there in the sitting room, and it's a gesture that makes her heart clench. She hasn't been like this in the arms of a man since she was still a teenager, let alone, danced.

With her arms still around his neck, she pulls away a little to see him better. "Jack, dancing with you has always been one of my most cherished memories. That night, that party, it was the first time I had ever truly tasted any kind of freedom. It changed me."

Despite his small smile, Jack's gaze is serious. "It changed me, too, Rose. Meeting you, and especially after that night, I went from thinking I would spend the rest of my life alone, going wherever chance seemed to take me, to wanting some kind of stability for the first time in years— I wanted to be with you, to love you and protect you no matter what that meant, and barely dared to dream it could ever actually happen. At the time, Cal was the obstacle. Even after the sinking, when I thought you to be gone, I never fully gave up on that feeling— I never felt like you were fully gone. It's what has sustained me— what got me through the war, and I'm glad I trusted that, because here you are."

There was an intensity and sincerity in the way that Jack was looking at her now that had her pulse rising and cheeks flushing.

"Jack." He's leaning in closer now, and when he finally claims her lips, it feels to her like coming home— something she wasn't sure she had felt since childhood; a feeling of calm and security all wrapped up in this one man, and she lets herself respond and kiss him back with fervor.

She pulls back, and doesn't speak as she find's Jack's hand and pulls him along with her, out of the sitting room and past the kitchen towards her small bedroom at the back of the house. She turns when he pauses at

the threshold.

"Are you sure?" He asks, his hand finding her cheek again, and she nods, stepping into the room and turning on the one small lamp on her dressing table.

"Jack, I've waited for you for ten years and then some. I am sure." Her voice is calm and assuring and so very matter-of-fact.

"I've waited for you, too," he replies, and its an admission that surprises her.

"There haven't been other women?" She asks, suddenly feeling shy, but here he is stroking her cheek again with those wonderfully rough but gentle fingers, and suddenly she wants to know— not that it would change how she felt. It had been a decade after all, and she doesn't expect that he's spent it alone; she at least had had a child to keep her busy.

"No. Not since that night. There were women who showed interest, sure, but I knew that no one would ever be able to compare to you, Rose, so what was the point in trying? No one else would be able to compare to even the memory of you."

She shakes her head, pressing it briefly to his shoulder, before looking back up to meet his gaze, both surprised and touched by his sentiment. "I want this, Jack," she says firmly, pulling him across the threshold and fully into her small bedroom. "I want you."

Her words seem to be the catalyst he needs to make a move, and he's no longer afraid that she's doing this because she thinks its what he wants. His mouth finds hers again in an instant with a kiss much more searing than before, and his hands fumble behind them to close the door before fully turning his attention towards her. After a week he's still having trouble believing that this woman, whom he had longed for for a decade and believed dead, was here alive and breathing and taking up residence in his childhood home; that he had a family, a daughter, and legally now, a wife.

He doesn't want to rush this as had been necessary the last time they were together in that old Renault in the boughs of Titanic. Jack pulls back a bit, taking his time in committing her beauty to memory; the depth of her gaze and the slight freckles on her cheeks, the way her lips seem to be set in a permanent pout that can give way to a grin in an instant. He reaches up to her hair, seeking whatever pins hold her soft auburn curls up and away from his touch, and sets the long locks tumbling down as he pulls the pins away, laying them on her dressing table.

All the while, Rose has shifted her own hands from his shoulders down to the front of his shirt and has begun working on his buttons, which distracts Jack slightly.

"Rose," he breaks another kiss. "There's something…" He pulls back a little, and she stills her hands, looking back up to his eyes with concern, and he takes a breath again. "I'm not much to look at anymore, Rose. After that bombshell in the war, well, there's a lot of scarring— probably more than I let on. I don't want you to be startled."

Rose shakes her head with a slight frown and reaches her hand up to the scar visible on his jaw, resting it there before allowing her hand to trail down the side of his neck, and then back to his shirt front, feeling the warmth of his skin and the shape of the muscles underneath. Jack suddenly seems self-conscious in a way that is so unlike him.

"Jack, it's who you are that matters to me, not what you look like. Nothing could stop me from thinking you're the most handsome man I've ever met."

Jack leans forward, kissing her again on the lips before moving his hands over her now still ones, and undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt. He moves it aside, and lets her push it fully from his shoulders, not meeting her eye. He can feel her fingers brush over his arms and down to his chest and ribs, settling on his right side where he knows most of the scarring is. It's scattered and chaotic; angry patterns formed on skin healed over from the bits of metal and rock that had perforated his body in that damning blast. Some of that metal was still with him, so deep in his leg that they were never able to remove it, and he knows that it will be a bother for the rest of his life. What Rose can see here is nothing compared to the larger area of scarring over his right thigh.

In a act that astonishes Jack, Rose leans forward again, brushing her lips first against the scar running down his jaw to his collar-bone, making his pulse rise in an instant, and she continues kissing down his now bare chest, paying attention to each clustered scar down to his hip. Seeking out her hands from where they had settled at his waist, he pulls her back upright, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her soundly. Even without words, Rose had known how to put him at ease within his skin. He had truly been afraid that she might recoil at the sight of him now, but he had obviously been mistaken.

Clothing is soon discarded freely, and there she is beneath him looking even more like a goddess than he had remembered. He is unsure if his hands ache more to touch her or to draw her.

Their union is so beautiful that it brings tears to both of their eyes. For his part, Jack had been just as gentle and passionate as Rose had recalled, and Rose had surprised him by being so sure of herself. Completely spent, both from the trying day and the lovemaking, Jack collapses onto his back, pulling her to settle at his side where she drapes and arm and a leg back over him, snuggling close. He's nearly dozing off as she traces patterns onto his chest with a finger, his attention returning to him when she speaks.

"It's funny. I have a child, and yet this is the first time I've ever lain with a man in my bed."

Jack can't help but to chuckle a bit, and squeeze her close, dropping a kiss into her hair.

"Not even Cal?" Jack asked, wondering. Back then it hadn't been something he could have asked her. It had been taboo enough just to ask her if she loved her fiancé. Rose shakes her head no.

"Not for his lack of trying, I assure you, but we weren't yet married and so I was able to get away with my privacy on the pretense of waiting for marriage. I suppose with him I had wanted to put it off by any means possible. A union of that nature with Cal was not something I was looking forward to. I had heard rumor even then that he was cruel in bed. He was rough enough with me outside of the bedroom."

Fighting down the protective anger that flares within himself at the mention of Cal's temper and his own memories of the man, Jack looks down to Rose whose hand has stilled now, finding her expression pensive.

Sitting up a bit so he can look into her eyes, he speaks sincerely. "I promise you, Rose Dawson, that I will never treat you with anything but but the love and respect I have for you. If I ever do anything to make you feel stifled in the way you felt on that ship, please come talk to me. That fire you once had is still there burning bright in spite of everything, and I never want to do anything to see it dim again."

Rose nods her head, her cheek resting against his heart. "I love you, Jack."

"I love you, too, Rose."


	13. On Luck

It’s a Saturday, and even before she opens her eyes, Rose is glad that she doesn’t have to get up and rush around to get Josephine ready for the day. It had been another week, and while her daughter hadn’t had any more incidents at school in that time, she still wasn’t speaking to William, and had mostly kept to herself. 

During the week, Jack had begun to get settled in to the household. He and Rose had spent every possible moment together, while taking the time when Rose would run errands or do chores to retreat up to his parents’ old room to paint and do repairs. While he and Rose had slept together that evening the week before, they had been continuing to take things slow and ease into the relationship, having not yet made love again. Everything was still new, and they were still learning a lot about one another as people. 

For instance, she had learned the morning after that Jack is indeed an extremely early riser. He had been up and had breakfast made by the time the sun had finished rising, and she had found him at the kitchen table that morning penning another letter— something he said was concerning a surprise that she would have to wait for.   
This morning, she finds him again at the small table, drinking coffee and lost deep in thought. His hair is wet from washing and as she steps close the scent of his aftershave is still thick in the air. She takes the time before he notices her to admire him a bit. He really is the most handsome man she had ever met, and he truly had grown in to being a man over the past decade. He jumps a bit when she speaks, still unaware of her presence.  
“Penny for your thoughts?” She asks, unable to resist running a hand through the damp hair at the back of his neck, smoothing it down. The gesture must have been soothing, as he closes his eyes and leans further into her touch.   
“It’s nothing. Just thinking about Ma and Pop and Julia. Being in this house, I keep finding things I had forgotten about.”  
Rose frowns, unsure of what to do to help. She hadn’t really considered how painful being surrounded by his childhood might be for Jack, as it had always been a source of comfort for her.   
“I’m sorry, Jack.”   
He shakes his head, grabbing her hand which is now on his shoulder and looking up at her. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing; its just a lot to get used to.” He clears his throat, and stands facing her, the subject dropped. 

“I actually had a question for you,” he says, now absent-mindedly rubbing his hands over her upper arms as if to warm her. She has found that to be another funny habit of his— always reaching out to touch her in some way when they’re in close proximity. Its a habit that she doesn’t mind one bit, and she’s not even sure that Jack is aware she does it.  
“Our charming daughter and I have been working on a surprise for you that is nearly ready. How would you feel about me borrowing the little lady today for a trip into Eau Claire?”

Rose smiles, glad that Josephine and Jack had begun to truly get to know one another. A real relationship with her father is all she had wanted for her daughter, and getting to watch that relationship bloom has been absolutely heart-warming. 

“Of course, Jack. I’m not sure what mischief you two are up to, but that’s fine. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. Although that’s quite a journey. I think I’ve only ever taken her into the city a handful of times.”

— — — —

Josephine, for her part, had been thrilled. They were going on a train, and it would be an adventure.   
At the station, Jack buys two tickets, handing one to Josephine to keep track of on her own, a responsibility which she readily accepts, eyes gleaming and smile flashing bright. 

“Have you ever been on the train?” he asks as they find their seats. Jo is looking around with interest, taking in all that she can of her surroundings on the small carriage, with her ticket still clutched firmly in her hand.   
The little girl nods. “Once, with mother and Will and Mrs. Richardson, two summers ago. We went to a park and saw fireworks. I don’t remember it too well.”  
Jack smiles, liking the idea of Rose and her little girl enjoying the excitement of fireworks on a hot summer evening. “Trains are great,” says Jack. “I can’t even tell you how many hours I have spent on trains. They’ll take you anywhere you wanna go. When I was coming back here to Chippewa Falls I was on the train for four days, all the way from New York City,” he tells her, and her eyes go wide. 

“Four days?” She asks. “Didn’t you get bored stuck in a little car?”

Jack shakes his head as the train starts moving. “Nah.” He points out the window as they head into the countryside between the small town and the larger neighboring city. “You see, with the train always moving, there was never a boring view, so I had plenty of things to draw.”

Jo considers this, finding the answer acceptable as she takes in the wintery views outside the window. There was indeed a lot that she could draw. “Have you been a lot of places, Jack?” She asks, inquisitively. “Momma says you have.”

“I have,” he says, settling back. “I’m sure I’ll tell you all the stories eventually.”

If Josephine had been wide-eyed at the train, that was nothing compared to seeing her take in the sights of a city. Eau Claire was nothing compared to New York, or Paris, or London, but Jack had to remind himself that his young daughter had probably never seen buildings taller than two or three stories, and definitely never so many cars in one place. As they made their way down the crowded weekend street from the train station, he found himself unconsciously reaching for her hand so they wouldn’t be separated, and with her squeezing his own right back, it felt as natural as breathing. He wasn’t used to having another human life to worry about, but he found that instinct made him instantly protective of the nine-year-old.

Once they reached the department store that had been Jack’s intended destination after seeing catalogues in the town’s general store, the pair of them set to work, finding everything they needed to pull Rose’s new room together. Jack had finished painting it the day before. It was a pale blue that made the space feel bright and refreshed. Looking around, they settled on a white quilt and soft sheets with a brocade wildflower pattern that Jo said her mother would like. Jack also found sheer curtains, and shiny new hardware for the existing furniture. With their trip a success, Jack treats Jo to lunch and a soda in a small diner near the train station before they begin their trek back home. Before departing however, Jack tells Josephine that he has one more errand to run, and that she has to keep this one absolutely secret. By the time they catch their train, the young girl is nearly bursting with excitement.

While the pair is gone, Rose visits Miranda at the diner. She still has the coming week off of work, but hadn’t known what else to do with her suddenly free day. She didn’t want to be cooped up in the house on her own and she really had wanted to catch up with her friend. 

Entering the diner, she find’s Miranda in a jovial mood, but William seems completely dulcet.   
“Is Jo with you?” the pre-teen asks, looking hopeful, but Rose shakes her head. “No. She has gone with her father to Eau Claire for the day. They’re setting up some kind of surprise.”  
At this, William looks dejected, but Miranda perks up. “Don’t worry, William,” Rose says, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll come around soon. She’s being stubborn, but I know she misses you, too.”  
He goes upstairs, and Miranda takes a seat next to Rose at the bar top. It’s after lunch time now, and the restaurant has cleared out, giving the two women time to catch up. “I’m starting to think that maybe my son has more feelings for your daughter than maybe we thought. He has been completely torn up with her not speaking to him.”

Rose sighs, nodding. “I’ll have another talk with her about it. I know William only meant well. She’s just fiercely independent.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” the older woman jokes. “So Josephine and her father are getting along?”

“Like thieves,” Rose says. “They started keeping little secrets from me almost immediately. They’re plotting something today that has taken them to the city. Really though, I couldn’t be more thrilled. Jo really needed a father-figure in her life, I think, and Jack already absolutely adores her. For a man who never thought he would be a father, he’s a natural. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know how I would have ever calmed her down after that fight the kids got into.”

“And how are you doing?” Miranda asks, eyebrow raised expectantly. “How is living together going?” 

“I’m— I’m good. I’m really good, but it still somehow doesn’t feel real. I don’t think I’m quite over the shock that he’s alive and here in the first place. I suppose there is still gossip all over town.” 

Miranda nods. “I think that is to be expected for a while, although more people are talking about your real story now than the vicious gossip it was. I’ve heard some even call it romantic. Something will happen eventually to get everyone’s minds off of it, but right now its the most interesting piece of news this town has got.”

Rose understands. “I just wish it wasn’t causing so many problems for the kids. It’s the whole reason that Jo was getting picked on at school and why William got into that fight.”  
“Honey, I told you not to worry about that. William is a young boy. He’s bound to get in to fights. I’m just glad he was fighting for something he felt was a good reason, and he’s got two weeks of dish washing duty to show for it, although I think Josephine not speaking with him is punishment enough if I’m honest. They’re young. They’ll both figure it out soon. Now, really, what about you? Are you and Jack an item again?” Her friend can’t help the twinkle in her eye as she asks the question.

Rose raises an eyebrow at the expectant expression on her friend’s face, stifling a laugh. “If you’re asking me whether he’s made any passes, I’m not one to kiss and tell,” she states coyly, thinking on the night and subsequent days she had spent with the wonderful man who had re-entered her life. “We’re still taking our time with everything. I will say though, he is a very gentle and attentive man.” She frowns slightly in thinking of Jack now. “In most ways he is exactly the man that I have been missing all these years. In other ways he’s more grounded now and definitely less care-free. I think maybe its the war that has done that. There have been times this week where I’ve caught him lost in thought, and looking almost melancholy.”

“Have you asked him about it?” Miranda wonders. 

Rose shakes her head. “No. Not yet anyway. It hasn’t seemed right.”

— — — — 

Rose is by the fire that Sunday afternoon, listening to music on the radio and mending a tear in one of Josephine’s dresses when her daughter comes downstairs with a sly look on her face

“Mama!” She calls, as she enters the room, making Rose look up from her work.   
“You look like the cat that ate the canary,” Rose comments, looking at her daughter expectantly.   
“Come upstairs!We have a surprise for you!”

Rose sets the sewing aside and stands to follow the girl, her eyebrow raising questioningly but not surprised. Upon their return home the previous evening, Jack and Josephine had forbid Rose from coming upstairs. She had her suspicions that Jack was doing renovations to his parents old room, what with a week of occasional noise when she was doing her own chores, and the fact that he had emerged on occasion with paint somewhere on his clothes or his skin. Never-the-less, after their trip to Eau Claire the previous day, her curiosity was genuinely peaked. 

Jack greets them at the top of the landing, taking her hand as she ascends the stairs, letting Josephine pass by the both of them. His eyes are bright, and he too has a smug smile to rival his daughter’s. 

“What are you two up to?” Rose asks, squeezing his hand back. Jack positions himself behind her, covering her eyes with both hands and walking her forward into the direction of the master bedroom. 

“We’ve been working on your new bedroom,” Jack says, stopping her in the doorway. She can feel him lean closer, whispering in her ear so Josephine can’t hear. “I know you said you like your space downstairs, but I think its only right that you have a proper room.” She shivers as his voice ghosts over her neck.

Jack uncovers her eyes, and Rose is stunned by the changes he has made to the space. The yellowing wallpaper is gone, and in its place a fresh coat of pale blue paint with bright white trim. He has put new shades on the windows, which are up and letting the bright late winter sun stream past new sheer curtains. The furniture, while still the same cherry wood set that she had learned was made by Jack’s father, as much of the furniture in the house had been, has been shined up and given new brass hardware and there are soft looking new linens on the bed.  
Rose is frozen, amazed at just how bright and cheery the room had become, as if new life has been breathed into it. Looking around further, her eyes settle on a small bouquet of white roses and a silver hand held mirror on what had been his mother’s vanity, and on the far wall hangs a new drawing by Jack; one of his young daughter hard at work in front of an easel, and next to it, the new painting that Josephine had slaved over all week— a beautiful depiction of their home in summertime, the rendering even better than the ruined one. 

Rose is overwhelmed, and tears spring to her eyes almost immediately. While not the height of luxury that she had grown up with, it’s the most simplistically beautiful bedroom she had ever seen, and the whole thing had been put together just for her with intention by the two people she loved the most. 

Josephine frowns upon seeing her mother’s tears, and she catches the sudden look of worry on Jack’s face as well.  
“What’s wrong, Mama?” the nine year old asks, coming in close to grab her mother’s hands. “Don’t you like it?”  
Rose lets out a teary chuckle. “I love it, darling. Its beautiful.”

“Then why are you crying?” asks the little girl, and Rose wraps her arms around her daughter, pulling her close, before reaching out to Jack as well, pulling him into her side. 

“Because I love you both so much,” she says truthfully. “I feel so lucky to have you.”

This get’s Josephine smiling again as she hugs her mother back, and Jack rubs Rose’s back, pulling her closer to his side as well as he places his other hand on Josephine’s shoulder.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he responds, looking a little misty-eyed himself.


	14. An Evening of Surprises

That evening, just as they’re finishing supper, the Dawsons get a knock on the door. Jack had cooked— something Rose had been surprised to find out he enjoyed doing, and something he was quite spectacular at, and so while Rose did the dishes and Josephine dried them, he was the one to answer it. It’s not too late in the evening, and still light outside, and there on the doorstep anxiously kicking snow from his boot is William. He gives a sheepish smile to Jack, still scuffing his shoe on the ground.   
“Do you think I could talk to Josephine?” the boy asks, looking somewhat desperate. For a second, Jack is reminded of a time when he had felt such desperation when trying to gain access to speak to Rose, only to be denied at every turn. This situation was much more tame, and the thirty-year-old was not about to deny access to the twelve-year-old boy, but Jack could sense the futility that William had been feeling at his attempts to apologize and speak to his daughter for the past week being denied at every turn by his admittedly rather stubborn child.   
Jack nods, clapping a light hand on the young man’s shoulder in a sign of welcome. “You can try,” he says genially. “I can’t promise she’s ready to listen. You wait here and I’ll see if I can fetch her.”

When he enters the kitchen again, Rose looks back at him from the sink, raising an eyebrow expectantly. He lets his lips quirk up in a half-smile before training his eyes on his golden haired daughter, clearing his throat to get her attention.   
“Miss Josephine,” he says, adopting a faux-genteel accent and making the young girl look up from her chore, “It seems you have a gentleman caller out on the front veranda. Why don’t you go and see what he would like.”  
Her eyes narrow at her father, first in confusion and then in comprehension as she realize that Jack means William. “I don’t want to talk to him,” she says, sounding grumpy now. “He knows that.”  
Rose sighs, abandoning the dishes and drying her hands on the towel Jo has thrown down on the counter. “Darling, I know you’re still angry with William, but you two have been inseparable since before you could walk. It’s your decision, but I think you should be kind, and at least go hear what he has to say.”

The young girl heaves a dramatic sigh before making her way towards the front door, shrugging on a coat against the chill of the late winter evening before stepping onto the front porch. 

Stacking the last plate, Rose heaves her own sigh, turning towards Jack. 

“That boy seems absolutely heartbroken,” Jack points out, gesturing over his shoulder towards the front of the house.   
“I did warn you that Jo can be stubborn,” she says with a hint of humor, although she herself desperately wants the two children to settle their differences, if only so her daughter would quit sulking. 

Jack grins, weighing his words. “Not unlike her mother,” he responds, earning a petulant look from Rose, and he puts his hands up in surrender before closing the space between them and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” he amends. “Your stubbornness adds to your strength, and you, Rose, are the strongest woman I know. How could I not want our daughter to hold the same strength?”

“Well, pretty soon she’ll be a teenager, and heavens help us then,” Rose states, reaching up to drape her own arms around Jack’s neck. “I was a stubborn teenager still when I met you.”

“There’s a scary thought.” Jack pulls a face of fear before grinning again and leaning his forehead against hers. “From what I recall, though, you were pretty wonderful. Although maybe we should try and keep Josephine away from steel tycoons and ships.”

“I think its going to be young William we’ll have to pay more attention to,” supplies Rose. “Right now they’re still children, but pretty soon he’s no longer going to be just a boy and a playmate. He’s three years older than she is, and already he seems so smitten.”

Jack nods. “I think we have our work cut out for us,” he agrees. Leaning forward, he kisses her lips soundly. “I have a feeling that daughter of yours is going to be able to break hearts, just like her mother.”

“Our daughter,” Rose corrects.  
Josephine reenters the house looking much happier than she had all week, and Jack and Rose make a point of not questioning her, but are glad that everything is settled. When Josephine asks Rose about walking to school with William the next morning as her mother had promised her allowance to do a few weeks prior, Rose allows it, pushing down the small part of her that wants to selfishly hold on to her daughter so tightly and disallow her freedom. Unlike her own mother, Rose wants to allow her daughter a sense of authority over her own life and decisions, and she knows that that can only happen by relinquishing control. 

Jack seems to sense Rose’s inner trepidations, and once Josephine has left the room on her way to turn in for the night, pulls Rose a little closer, his hand on her lower back supportively.   
“I’m not ready for her to grow up so quickly,” Rose says, now a bit melancholy.   
“She still has quite a bit of time to grow,” Jack points out, “And you are a fantastic mother. Maybe we’ll have another little one when the time is right.”

She looks at him then, surprised by his suggestion but not finding the idea to be unwelcome. What would it be like to raise an infant with Jack? What would he be like if she were to become pregnant again? After all, he hadn’t been there the first time around, but that wasn’t by choice. She believes full heartedly that had he known, he would have supported her and loved her through everything. 

“Rose,” he suddenly sounds hesitant, “I hope that I haven’t been too forward the past couple of weeks. I never want to rush things or make you feel uncomfortable. I just— I already feel like I’ve missed so much, and there seems to be so much time to make up for. I don’t mean to rush things. I know that you want to take everything slowly. I just want you to understand that I mean everything I’ve said. Legally, you are my wife. That decision was presumptuous of me, but that is truly how I see you. You are my partner— my equal if not better. I fully intend to take care of you and build a life with you for the rest of our time on this earth, that is, if you’ll have me.” His gaze is intense as he takes a step back, turning instead to face her.  
“I’m sorry,” he says with a self-deprecating grin, “but If I get onto one knee I might not be able to get back up.” He gives a light stomp with his bad leg for emphasis. Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a small velveteen box, presenting it to her, and taking her left hand in his right. “I wasn’t going to do this yet. I was going to wait and set up some elaborate scheme, but I can’t wait any more. Rose Dawson, will you do me the honor and make me an honest man for real?”

Tears spring to Rose’s eyes, and she can’t think, instead throwing her arms around tightly around Jack and crashing her lips to his and he struggles momentarily to retain his balance. “So that’s a yes?” he asks, his heart pounding from the kiss, and the nervousness he had felt in formally proposing.

“Yes, Jack. I’ll marry you.”  
Jack lets out a whoop before being shushed by Rose. “Shh! Jack! you’ll wake Josephine!” He only grins. Raising her hand, he slides the ring onto the proper finger, relieved at the perfect fit. He and Josephine had picked it out only the day before. It’s a modest yet pretty ring— an art deco style thing with a bezel cut diamond laid in white gold, and surrounded by a thin row of sapphires and floral detailing on each side. It was the first somewhat lavish purchase he had ever been able to make, and if he had to guess, the most important one he would make in his entire life.   
“Jack, it’s beautiful.” He watches as she raises her hand to look closer at the ring in the electric light still on above them. The coloring of the stones reminded her of “the heart of the ocean” in a way that was sentimental and full of meaning, and she could tell that he had taken great care in picking it out.   
“Josephine helped,” he admits, earning another smile from the woman before him. He sets down the small box on the nearby table, and gives the back of his neck an uncomfortable rub— a telltale sign of nerves, she has learned. “There’s another thing,” he says hesitantly. “While fixing your room, I found my parents’ wedding bands.” He pulls two loose rings from his other pocket, showing them to her in the palm of his hand. They’re simple and silver, but still pretty. The men’s band is thick and masculine, and the women’s band is thin and dainty. “If its okay with you, I would like to use them when we have a ceremony. When I found them the other day, I had been considering a proposal already, and when I opened my father’s secret box and there they were, it was like they were there, giving their blessing.”  
Rose nods, her heart growing even fonder of the man in front of her. “Of course, Jack. “They’re lovely.”


	15. Confronting Dreams

Some time has passed and the chill of winter has begun to subside along with it. Rose was back to work, and despite the growing plainness that there was no real drama surrounding the Dawsons, or at least none that the town would ever find out about, that still hadn’t quelled all of the vicious gossip at her place of work. There was no scandal as the town had seemed to be waiting for, and the crowds at the diner had died down to the usual flow of business, probably aided by the fact that Jack and Rose kept almost entirely to themselves and still did not go out in public together very often. This however didn’t stop the lingering stares Rose could feel at her back, or the women crossing the street to avoid her path. She was truly having a hard time figuring out why she had become such a pariah. The appearance of a ring on her finger had served to quell some of the more insidious rumors however, and for that she was grateful, and still, there were many who were very friendly and merely curious.  
The bullying that Josephine had been experiencing at school had thankfully died down for the most part however, and not only had the young girl made up with William, with whom she was once again inseparable, but she had also begun to form a real connection and relationship with her father. Josephine and Jack would spend time together in the evenings as Josephine would draw or work on her lessons, and Jack would tell them both stories of his travels or recount his childhood antics.  
Rose had also learned in the past few weeks that Jack was extraordinarily smart and very well-read, adding an entirely new layer to Jack and Rose’s relationship as they were able to debate philosophy and discuss authors and poets. While not formally educated beyond grade school, he had continued to read for the love of it, and Jack especially adored poetry. Rose figured, with his artist’s soul, she shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was when she first heard him quote from Keats or Whitman.  
Since Rose had gone back to work in late February, Jack had been spending much of his time going through his parents affairs as well as their home— something he had put off for nearly two decades. He didn’t regret putting it off. Getting away, and traveling and living for himself had been what was necessary at the time. He wasn’t always as steadfast and self-assured as he tried to appear, and at fifteen, he hadn’t been able to face any of it. Even years later, with all of the death and sadness and destruction that he had witnessed in his relatively short life had taken a toll and he was finally ready now to slow down and sort through everything before deciding on a new course of action. Right now, he had Rose and Josephine and all the time in the world to build a life together with them. He finally had a family again.   
He also knew however, that he wanted to be able to do something to make that family proud. They were, with Jack’s inheritance, very well off and bordering on wealthy, and that’s not taking Rose’s nest egg from Cal’s jacket, and the Heart of the Ocean into account. Those things, they wouldn’t touch— had talked even about sending them back to Caledon Hockley anonymously. He also knows that wealth isn’t something that either he nor Rose value beyond wanting to meet their basic needs and comforts. Jack still however wanted to do something that Rose and Josephine could be proud of, just as Rose continued to work more as a matter of pride and for the companionship with Miranda. He knew that she wouldn’t necessarily continue to work at the diner forever, but for right now, it was good for the both of them to have routine and some time apart to continue grow into their relationship.

He had been toying with the idea of building a new workshop and going into the furniture business in his father’s footsteps. It would be good, honest work, and something creative that would occupy his time allow him to use his hands. It was a possibility. That, however, he was afraid wouldn’t be as fulfilling as he wanted. Once again, the niggling desire to draw and paint and to be a serious artist had begun to re-emerge: the only problem being that he hadn’t done more than a simple sketch since before the Titanic. Most of his drive to create had gone down with that ship, lost along with the woman he had believed, until about six weeks ago, to be dead.   
That afternoon, with Josephine still at school, Rose arrived home from her shift and called out for Jack, expecting to find him near the entry or sitting room or at the kitchen table, where he usually sat. Upon calling his name, there was no response.   
He hadn’t mentioned going anywhere. In fact, she hadn’t seen him at all the morning, which had been odd. He was usually up at dawn, but his door was still closed at eight, so she had left him to sleep. Listening harder as she made her way through the house, she heard the faint sounds of the radio on down the lesser used hallway on the ground floor. Following it, she came to a room that had once been Jack’s father’s office. It was situated across from the small bedroom that had been hers until recently, and which now housed Jack in the evenings, as they were still sleeping apart.  
The door was ajar, and looking in she could see Jack seated at his father’s broad oak desk with papers strewn about. Some were crumpled and tossed haphazardly onto the floor, and Jack himself appeared equally rumpled. He was dressed still as if he had just awoken, in his dark brown corduroy pants and a cream colored shirt from the day before, which was still hanging untucked and wan’t fully buttoned. His usual suspenders were hanging loose at his hips, bunched around him in the chair. His hair, while often pushed back nowadays was flopping into his eyes. He was sitting somewhat awkwardly, with his bad leg out sideways so he could extend it fully. He had a drawing pencil in his hand, making broad strokes upon a paper, and a cigarette was burning away between his lips, nearly forgotten in his concentration.   
“Hello, Jack.” She greeted him, lingering in the doorway. She didn’t want to startle him, or disturb his work, unsure if her presence was welcome just now. He looks up, dropping his pencil with a sigh, and crumples the paper he had been drawing on, tossing it behind him. Rose can’t help but frown. Something about his demeanor appears defeated.   
“You’re home early,” he states, taking another drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out in a nearby ash tray. He rises slowly, being visibly careful of his leg, which Rose had noticed he seemed to have both good and bad days with. 

“It was slow,” she states, and embraces him as he puts his arms out for her, relaxing into his hug. “What are you up to?” She asks, peering over towards the desk.   
“Getting frustrated,” he responds with a shrug. “I was trying to draw something I actually like, but I’m so out of practice.”

Rose peers up into his face, trying to get a read on his expression, and brushes his hair from his forehead. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen him draw much at all since they were reunited. He had done that sketch of Josephine that now hung in the master bedroom, but that was all she had seen.   
“I haven’t done much drawing since we got separated,” he offers by way of explanation, and she knows that what he really means is that he hasn’t drawn much since Titanic.   
“Jack, you have such a talent. Why haven’t you let yourself draw?”  
He sighs again and pulls back, releasing his grip on her waist but still rubbing her arms instead, as had become a habit. Always a bundle of energy, Jack always seemed to be in motion somehow unable to sit still for long without finding some way to fidgit.

“After the sinking, it took a long time for me to feel anything but sadness and anger. Physically, it took me a while to recover from the hypothermia and frost bite, and even then, all I could think of was trying to find you. And then the war happened. I did some drawing while I was overseas, but it was all mundane and thoughtless sketching to pass the time between bombs and gunfire— I sketched birds and animals I would see down in the holes, or still life drawings of objects in the trenches or buildings we would pass in cities. I couldn’t bring myself to draw portraits. I couldn’t record the faces of the men around me who had a 50/50 chance of living through the day. It made the reality of dying out there in those fields seem like an even greater possibility, and if the last portrait I had ever drawn was that one of you those years before, then I was okay with that. Since then, it has been more recovery time, and too much mind-numbing administrative work for the military. In truth, it has only been since just before coming out here to Chippewa Falls that I’ve really considered doing my art again.”  
He pulls away and approaches the desk again, letting Rose follow. He picks up a few pieces of paper and hands them to her. On the pages she sees beautifully rendered portraits of the family that she now recognized as the Dawsons— his parents and sister, whom had graced the walls of this house and made a home in her heart, even if she had never met them for real. There’s one of the little girl, Cora, from Titanic, for whom Josephine’s middle name had been given. There was a man— Tommy, she recalled, wearing a bowler hat and clutching a beer with a mischievous smile on his face. And then there were soldiers— smiling too, as he must have remembered them, but Rose had an inkling that all of these drawings had one thing in common— they were all people who had passed on. This was Jack’s way of grieving and honoring the ones he’d lost.  
“Jack, these are wonderful,” she says, flipping through the small stack and wondering how he had found the time to do this many sketches in a morning.   
“They’re not right, though. They’re good enough, but they don’t have that thing… that thing in the eyes that my portraits used to have. They don’t show them as they truly were.”  
Rose considers this. She knows what Jack means. “Well,” she suggests, “every time I had seen you draw before had been from life. Here you’re drawing from memory. Maybe you should start drawing from life again.”— not from death, she thinks silently. “I’m sure there are plenty of people in town who wouldn’t mind a portrait.”  
Jack nods. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe that is the difference.” Jack slides back into the desk chair and pulls Rose closer until he has her perched on his lap.   
“Jack,” she protests, “Your leg. I’ll hurt you.” She tries to stand again, or shift her weight from his bad leg but he keeps her firmly in place with his arms wrapped around her waist.   
“I’ll be alright,” he assures her. He rests his forehead against her shoulder, hugging her tight and breathing in the scent of her perfume— lilac, he thinks, or maybe lavender.  
“Are you alight, Jack?” she asks. There’s an air of seriousness in her voice, and he knows she’s talking about more than just his leg.   
“I am, Rose. I promise you, I am. It’s just, all the memories get to me sometimes. I don’t mean to be melancholy or shut you out.”  
Rose shifts to face him better, bringing her hand up to smooth his hair from his eyes again and rest her palm against his cheek. “You never talk about it,” she says quietly.   
“I try not to dwell,” he explains honestly. “With my family it’s too easy for me to get trapped in my grief like when they had just passed. I never got to say goodbye— I left before they were buried— ran away from it. Then there’s Titanic, and the deaths we witnessed that night— the screams and the silence.” Rose shivers. She remembers that all too well.   
“Most of the time it’s easier for me to set it all aside or stay distracted,” he explains. “With the war, its not so easy to set aside. It was all carnage and senseless killing. My company became like a group of brothers. There were 40 of us going in. Seventeen of us are still alive and I’ve lost track of half of them. There are days when I can close my eyes and hear the sounds of the bombs and artillery shells around me. I still get nightmares. Not— not all the time, and much less nowadays, but often enough.”  
It was as if Rose could feel the deep-rooted sadness and remorse rolling off of him in waves, and she wasn’t sure what to say. This pain is not something that she’s able to erase, and she knows that. Instead of words, she finds herself embracing him further, kissing his forehead before pulling him in to rest against her chest, his cheek pressed to her heart as she cards her fingers through his hair, and she’s surprised then to hear the quiet sobs and to feel the tell-tale wetness against her blouse. She wonders when the last time he had let himself cry like this had been, and continues to hold him tight, a few tears of her own dropping as she contemplates all that this wonderful man had been through.   
“It’s unfair, Jack, and I’m so sorry for it. You deserve more than to have lost so much,” she says, something occurring to her. “Are the nightmares the real reason why you’re not staying with me upstairs at night?” She had been curious. Barring that one night a month ago, they still said goodnight and retreated to separate rooms for the night, usually after staying up much later than they should curled together on the sofa. She had thought, after redecorating it, and especially after his proposal, that Jack would stay with her, but he hadn’t asked.  
He gives a sigh, pulling back to see her face. “I guess, subconsciously that’s part of it. It’s mostly that I haven’t known how to ask or broach the topic. But yes. I haven’t wanted you to see me like that, although If the nightmares continue, I suppose it’s inevitable.”  
“Jack, I’m marrying you, and I’m doing that for a reason. I love everything about you, sadness and nightmares included. From here on out, let’s neither of us sleep alone. I can’t think of anything better than being in your arms anyway.”  
That gets a smile out of him, and she counts it as a triumph. “And Jack, I think it might help to visit your parents’ and sister’s graves— maybe you can find some peace and closure. I know talking to them has helped me through these years without you.”  
Still a little wet faced from crying, Jack kisses Rose gently, having taken in everything she had to say, and feeling that much more loved and supported. “You talked to them at their graves?” he asks in wonder.  
She nods. “I did. A few times a year. It made me feel closer to you and hold on to what little hope I had. Praying to them helped me keep my hope alive.”


End file.
